Cate of the Lost Colony - Lisa Klein [10]
I only sue to serve
A saint of such perfection,
Whom all desire, but none deserve
A place in your affection.
Thus if my plaints do never prove
The conquest of your beauty,
It comes not from defect of love,
But from excess of duty.
How I despise this state of subjection—and to a woman! A man is meant to rule himself.
29 January 1584
Dear Carew,
The queen has given me the license to a wine farm that will soon yield me £700 per annum. I think she loves my little verses, whether on scraps of paper or in speech.
When the renovations are complete, Durham House will rival Whitehall in grandeur. You must visit. I am having four new suits of clothes made, and new armor as well, that my apparel may reflect my status. Many envy me my exalted place.
And I envy you, the genial ranger of the Devonshire forests. You are free from the anxious fear and striving that attends this court of care.
Your humble brother,
Walter
Memorandum
15 February 1584. Attended the queen in the great hall last evening. Laughed at Tarleton’s antics. My eye kept wandering to one of the queen’s maids. I have seen her before, but where? Not the loveliest of the lot, but with striking gray eyes and hair black as jet and long as night. And the whitest of teeth, bared prettily when she laughs.
Have learned her name: Catherine Archer, daughter of Sir Thomas. I knew him in the Netherlands: a valiant soldier who deserved a longer life.
I swear the girl reddened when she saw me looking. But she did not look away, like the falsely modest do. Her cheeks are tinged like the dawn, or like the skin of a fresh-plucked peach.
By the Virgin’s paps, she has seized my fancy and now moves my pen to praise.
At the table spread with treats,
One tasty sweet did tempt me.
But on my plate was richer meat,
That I did need to feed me.
That is, my royal mistress, whose “richer meat” must nourish me. But I think I prefer the other maid’s sweetness.
2 March 1584
My dear brother,
I write with great reluctance, driven by the precarious state of my affairs. The costs to renovate my house and to live in accordance with my high expectations will soon ruin me. Despite Her Majesty’s favor, I have as yet no source of income adequate to cover my growing expenses. I am in dire need of £4,500. (I have had to employ forty men and forty horses besides improving the house for comfort, and the silver plates alone cost £1,200.) Therefore I beseech your assistance. A full accounting is attached. Whatever terms you set I will accept.
Begging your indulgence, I remain your devoted brother,
Walter R.
Memorandum
18 March 1584. Today C. came to Durham House with the queen. While my mistress admired the new Flemish arras, the maid fixed her gray eyes on me, and from them Cupid hurled his little darts, the sharp needles sticking in my heart. Stirred up, my wit flowed, delighting my queen, though its true purpose was to make her handmaid smile.
Double words do double duty,
Praising one and another’s beauty.
C. is moon while E. is sunlight;
Daytime to the other’s dark night.
(Let me not err by sending this to Her Majesty.)
27 March 1584
Brother Carew,
Praise be to the glorious Elizabeth! At last she has granted me Humfrey’s patent to “discover and occupy those remote and barbarous territories not yet possessed by any Christian prince.” I may hold these lands forever, yielding to her one-fifth of all the gold or silver ore extracted. Such terms are reasonable—indeed liberal—affording scope for great personal gain.
Two ships will sail on a reconnaissance voyage next month, captained by my young servants Barlowe and Amadas. The scholar Thomas Harriot is even now instructing them in the use of the newest tools of navigation.
As England still has few skilled pilots, I have engaged the Portuguese Simon Fernandes, with whom I sailed in ’77. Some call him a scoundrel and a heretic, but I know him to be a shrewd man of business. Walsingham once kept him from hanging for piracy,