The Grove of Eagles by Winston Graham
“It’s clear, Cousin,” Victor Hardwicke said, “that you know exactly where we are bound and will not tell.”
“I am Rear Admiral only of the White. Lord Admiral Howard will command the first squadron, the Earl of Essex the second, the Lord Thomas Howard the third. It will be for them in conference to decide the movements of the fleet and what the crews and officers shall be informed of and when.”
“What is your flagship to be?” Arthur Throgmorton asked.
“Warspite. Our newest.”
“And Ark Royal?”
“The Lord Admiral’s.”
Voices crossed and re-crossed. Victor picked up his lute again and smiled at me. His angled, hollow-cheeked face was haloed by the candles. He began to pluck gently at the strings.
“If love were mine, who pray would seek for valor?
For love is warm, and courage listeth cold.
If love were mine—”
“Victor,” said Sir Walter. “ D’you know the song ‘Weep not, my wanton’ which was all the rage last summer? Here, let me have your lute. It goes so …”
He took the instrument and began to play with nearly as accomplished a touch as the young man. Carew Ralegh, the cool and cynical, of all people, took up the refrain and sang in a fine clear voice, and soon the rest of us were joining in. I saw Lady Ralegh, her small determined head a little on one side, her lips moving but no sound coming from them as she watched her husband, her brother, her brother-in-law, her cousin, all men close to her. Then her eyes suddenly lifted towards the door. Sir Walter stopped in mid-chord.
Bell stood there with another messenger, he even wetter and more mud be-spattered than the first.
I think it was in all our minds that perhaps between church and dinner the Queen had veered away from her early resolution and had sent to countermand the first order. Sir Walter tore open the second message which was much longer. One could see as he read it that it was unwelcome news, but he said nothing as he read.
“What is it, Walter?” Carew Ralegh asked. “ More from Essex?”
“No … No, it is from John … Sir John Gilbert, my stepbrother. He writes from Plymouth. A picket boat, he says, has just come in bringing news of Drake and Hawkins. The—” he stopped and cleared his throat. “The report of their having captured Havana is false. In all their enterprises they were heavily defeated. And Drake is dead.”
Chapter Three
In April the remnants of Drake’s fleet began to arrive in Falmouth. In this disastrous expedition the great Hawkins had died too, and the remaining officers and men of whom only 400 were left, were in much sickness and want. (My father said bitterly that the failures always put straight into his haven—like the survivors of Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s last voyage in ’ 83—if a success the captains sailed straight for Plymouth or Dartmouth, and those towns got the spoils.)
In April too occurred another event of great consequence. The Spanish in Picardy abruptly changed their front of attack and with a brilliant and unexpected thrust invested Calais and then took it, massacring the entire garrison. By these thunderbolts the face of the war was changed. More than had ever been admitted had been expected of Drake’s being at sea again; now he was gone and there was a Spanish port at our throat. It was the one thing the Armada of ’88 had lacked.
Twice in the month I rode with Ralegh to London. By exertion and exhortation the naval expedition was kept in being, though none knew if it would ever leave our shores. In early May I sailed with Captain Crosse in Swiftsure to join the fleet assembling at Plymouth. Sir Walter was to follow with the main body almost at once. At Plymouth the bay was alive with warships. Lord Admiral Howard had arrived with Ark Royal and Lion and six other battleships the day before us. His kinsman, Lord Thomas Howard, was expected later in the week aboard Mere Honour and with a squadron in his wake; the Earl of Essex in Due Repulse had been the first to arrive and kept princely state aboard her. He was also, it was said, feeding the whole fleet out of his own pocket in order to save the sea stores.
Hardly had we arrived than a message came overland from Ralegh to Captain Crosse that he could not hope to be at Plymouth with the rearguard for two weeks yet. Half the victuallers were still unready, and stores could not be brought to the dockside and loaded in time. He would, he promised, sail from Gravesend on the 16th with every ship in his charge, if he had to hang the captains and sail with farmers’ boys.
“The Generals will not like it,” said Crosse. “ There are murmurings against him already that he does not make sufficient haste. When they stop quarrelling among themselves they see Sir Walter in the background, not yet arrived, the great eccentric, and they use him as a convenient peg for their grievances.”
In the same bag came a letter from my father which had reached Sherborne after I left,
“Son Maugan,
This is to advertise you that your grandmother is likely to be gone from us ere this reaches you. She journeyed to London early in the year and was seized with heart cramps on making her return to us last month. The condition has continued and worsened since: I do not think she can survive another seizure. She has been a noble woman and will take her place with the blest above.
I trust you are finding profit in your employ. It is a fine opportunity for any young man; especially for one such as you.
We have lost eight lambs of the murrain and I fancy there is an evil eye upon the house. Trudy, the bay mare, is ill of the botts. We have sown the castle fields with oats this year. Pray God they do well, for we are sore put.
Your affectionate
Father.”
I had received a small monthly wage at Sherborne. It would pay for a horse. I asked Captain Crosse and he said: “I have nothing for you here. If you are back by the 18th you should be in safe time.”
When I reached Arwenack it was the afternoon of the 10th and sunny and warm; after being away for a few months the beauty of the land and bay caught at my breath: the chestnut trees in the drive were almost out and lifting their candles towards a blue sky innocent and remote. A yellow-sailed hoy was luffing out into the bay; seagulls were crying their lonely lament; the sea was a glistening mirror which the distance breathed on and made hazy.
The first person I saw was my grandmother sitting out on a chair on the front lawn.
My father said:
“She’s better, yes, she’s better, though for how long … I truly believe her ailment was brought on not by shortness of breath but by shortage of money. For her return home from London she wished to hire a coach, but your Uncle Henry being in Holland and William refusing, she was constrained to attempt the hire herself, whereupon her great debts—and mine too—all but prevented her. For a man and five horses she was asked 6s. a day—so prices go ever up—and she engaged one Foster to have them for a quarter of a year—your grandmother was never one to pare her cheeses—but it was all but lost because Foster demanded a surety for their return and there was much to do—your grandmother weeping tears of rage, she says—before Mr Atkinson stood surety for her. By then anger had so taken hold of her that the first of many seizures came on before she reached Basingstoke.”
My father hunched his shoulders as if cold. The year had not dealt favourably with him. In a face grown fleshier his eyes looked smaller, little prominent blue stones with pink under-rims. The life had gone out of his fine hair; it might have been gathered from some thrashing floor.
“Have you news of the Fermors, Father?”
“Ah, yes, I’m advanced in that direction. When I was set free of prison I went to see Sir George and had it out with him very straight. Either a date was appointed, I said, or he must look elsewhere for a sire for his grandchildren. So he has stated October next. The eighth will be the day, God helping. Hearing this, and determined that there should be no other delay, I stayed on at Easton Neston until the marriage contract was drawn up and signed.”
… And Lady Killigrew said: “They can have taught you no manners at Sherborne, or you would have co
… “ So you’re home for a visit, Master Maugan,” Meg said. “ I thought you’d runned away for good. Do not be scared o’ me; I’ve never asked nothin’ but what I thought was freely given. Indeed, twas th’other way round most of the time—as I trust you’ve not forgot. Have you found some nice wench at your new home who’ll just be at your beck and call when you d’ want her and no other time?”
… “ Sometimes I wish I could go in the church,” young John Killigrew said as he unloosed his shoes in the bedroom that night. “Have you ever thought of it, Maugan? No, well, it might not suit you, but I should not dislike it. I have small interest in my father’s life here—it is not a godly life nor one I’d willingly copy. I believe I should be happier if you were my full brother and could inherit in my place …”
… And Belemus said: “Dolphin was here last week, with your old friends aboard. But they were all but caught. It was a great to-do.”
“Caught?”
“By Jonas in Crane. Elliot had barely time to slip his anchor and take the tide up river.”
Crane was a crompster, a type of vessel fairly new to the navy, a ship of some 180 tons: three masted and low built, with speed and an armament of 2 eighteen pounders and fourteen smaller cannon, so that she could catch and kill all but the biggest. She was the terror of the Elliots and the Burleys of the coast.
“The difficulty,” said Belemus, “ was that the man aloft aboard Crane reported a suspicious vessel slipping away in the dusk. Captain Jonas, of course, has received many favours in this house; but this was altogether a trifle—well, blatant. Other people would know of a ship sheltering in Mylor Pool. Your father could do nothing personal so I was sent aboard Crane. After some delicate negotiation £100 changed hands—God knows how your father found it—and Crane went off to investigate a report that there was a pirate ship in the Helford River.”
I whistled.
Belemus went on: “By the way, d’you still hanker after little Mistress Reskymer, for I hear her spouse is sick …”
… All yesterday I had been resisting a desire to go to Paul. I knew it must end in frustration, yet, now the excuse existed, I had to go.
When I got to the church Philip Reskymer was from home and only Sue was there with a black-browed hairy man who topped her by a foot. She changed at sight of me.
“Do you know each other? This is Maugan Killigrew, Mr Arundell, Mr John Killigrew’s son from Arwenack. Mr Henry Arundell of Truthall, Maugan.”
“Formerly of Tolverne, sir?”
“Formerly of Tolverne.” Mr Arundell let breath escape from between thick lips indecently red by contrast with his black beard. “I know of you, boy. I’m told you saw my brother in Spain.”
We walked slowly round among the hammering masons as I gave an account of the meeting. So I knew them all now, Sir Anthony, dying for a lost faith with his white wispy hair haloing a fading brain; Thomas Arundell, narrow faced, blue eyed, faintly squinting, an artist and a passionate exile; Alice, to whom I had delivered his letter, thin and eroded and grown to a carved chair in which she overlooked her green lawns: now Henry, fat as a king, bearded like a footpad. I knew now of whom he reminded me: his nephew Thomas waiting to inherit from his ailing brother Jonathan in the tree-smothered house by the river.
Yet under or over these thoughts, distinct as a thread of crimson in a dull fabric, was awareness of Susanna Reskymer, of what she wore, of how she moved and breathed and spoke.
Mr Henry Arundell was a close friend of the Reskymers and had come on a similar mission to my own, to which Sue replied: “Oh, he is not well, but I don’t think his disease would be dangerous if I could persuade him to a greater ease and an increased rest. Today he is in St Ives on matters to do with this re-building. He would suffer no one to do it for him. I expect him home any moment. You’ll sup with us, Maugan?”
“Thank you.”
To my relief Mr Arundell would not wait; blowing breath and importance, he said he had business with the St Aubyns and must go; Philip and Susanna must visit him at an early date and spend the night. Mr Arundell rubbed his black beard and looked Sue over. Philip must appreciate his hick and take advantage of being alive …
When he had gone off with his two servants riding behind him a silence fell between us. I could hardly believe my good fortune at having her alone, yet I did not know what to do with it. Eleven months ago I had slept with her. We had parted in anger and not written since. That parting was a barrier I could not climb.
We walked back to the church, which was being slowly raised again.
“Where do you live now?”
“In the cottage which John Pieton rented—he who was killed.
It’s convenient to be near the re-building … You have been with Ralegh, Maugan?”
“Still am. I came back for a week only because my grandmother was sick. Then I heard Mr Reskymer also was ill …”
“He is more ill than he’ll acknowledge, but to his friends I keep up the pretence as he wishes. It’s a bloodlessness which troubles him. But he has a rare inner strength, Maugan, arising from his faith, and I believe it will carry him a good way yet.”
Two men, broad shouldered, with the thick haunches of the Cornish, were lifting a huge stone into position at the foot of a pillar. We stopped to watch them. So far our words had been as formal as if Henry Arundell were still here.
“And you?” she said.
I spoke constrainedly of my life at Sherborne. “I go now with Ralegh on a naval commission which leaves this month.”
“I had heard rumours. Where are you bound?”
“That we don’t know. It’s a small armada with soldiers aboard.”
She was silent for some time. “How much are you committed to it, Maugan?”
“Committed? Oh, completely. Besides, I want to go.”
She knitted her brows. We walked slowly round towards the ruins of the vicarage. “ I don’t like it, Maugan. There is bound to be danger. Think of Drake and Hawkins and so many others. It’s not just danger from combat, though that may be great; there is danger from fever and other disease.”
“Where there is danger there is usually hope of profit.”
She looked up, eyes green behind their lashes in the falling sun. “There could be profit nearer home. I was glad you came today. I wondered if you had met Henry Arundell before. You see …”
“The connection? No, I don’t.”
“… I wonder if Philip could help. It might well be arranged.”
They had not yet begun to rebuild the Reskymers’ house, but the kitchens were being used, and horses were standing in the stables. A servant ran out to ask Sue about supper, and she answered composedly, mistress of the house and the situation. Her circumstances were changing her, giving her greater poise and assurance.
She said: “ Henry Arundell’s steward died last month. He is looking for a new one and seeking someone well learned who can take over much of the management of his estate. He says it is difficult to find the right man. I know you are very young for such a position, but it might be possible that he would take you.”
I suppose I should have been happy that she was concerned for my safety, but with the perverseness of the rejected lover I thought the proposition smacked of condescension. “This is not a time when I could apply to him.”
“An advancement from being at Ralegh’s side?”
“From what you tell me it’s only as a writer that you’re employed. Henry Arundell is a bachelor and getting up in years. He’s looking for someone young and energetic and reliable. One way or another, you could make your fortune there.”
“You’re still anxious I should make my fortune?”
“You know the reasons.”
“Tell me them.”
“Perhaps you think I’ve forfeited the right to be interested in your life, to wish to advance it.”
“… Never that. But I think the advancement must be along my own route.”
She bent to rub some grass off her shoe. “ Henry Arundell also has close connections with the Howards. They are relatives, of course, and of great influence in and around the court—different from Ralegh, who many think will never return to influence and power.”
I did not speak and we moved on through the coppice to the cottage.
She said: “As it happens my father was at one time in the employ of a Howard—at least, it was the same family though a Devonshire branch. This was before he was married. He often used to talk about it—to say what a powerful family they were and what connections they had.”
All the brambles had been neatly cleared.
She said: “ I have a strange feeling about this naval voyage, Maugan, a premonition. I wish you would not go, but stay here in your own country.”
“And near you,” I said harshly.
The wind blew a flicker of hair over her eyes as she straightened up. She blinked and seemed to shiver as she turned away.