Cate of the Lost Colony - Lisa Klein [9]
I walked around the puddle, avoiding the sorry cloak. Unable to restrain myself, I stared at the man as I passed, drinking in his features. His eyes flickered over me and he smiled—surely not at me, but at the memory of the queen’s touch.
“Close your mouth, you look moonstruck,” said Emme.
“Who was that?” I whispered.
“He is the queen’s new favorite, I daresay,” she replied.
“But what is his name?”
“Why, my dear Catherine, that is Walter Ralegh!”
Chapter 3
From the Papers of Walter Ralegh
November 1583
Brother Carew,
I flourish in Her Majesty’s favor. She grants me the use of Durham House, once the bishop’s palace. It is my reward for quelling the savages in Ireland—that forsaken bog!—and for transporting the foolish Monsieur to the Netherlands, where we lost many good men fighting the Spanish papists. God bless their sacrifice but keep me from the same, for I long for more than a soldier’s brief glory.
You will remember that our kinsman Humfrey Gilbert obtained from Her Majesty a patent to explore North America. It has been five years since his first voyage, and a year since he perished in his second unsuccessful attempt. My dream now is to continue his efforts to find a northwest passage to China and the Indies. If the queen grants me the charter, I will unlock the treasure chest of the New World, and our family name will be exalted!
To that end I flatter Her Majesty as if she were a maid half her age. I almost thought she would marry me the day I threw my cloak in her path. That garment cost me £80, for it was trimmed in fur and gilded braid.
Still, its ruin was a small sacrifice for such favor. May it ever flow my way, like the Thames to the sea.
Yours,
W. Ralegh
Poetic Musings
Like the Thames that flows into the sea,
The current of grace proceeds from thee.
Nay, this might offend Her Majesty, for the Thames is often vile and clouded. The sea is the greater body, thus:
To my sovereign Queen:
As the river to the boundless sea,
So flows my tribute unto thee.
’Tis a good beginning of a poem.
13 December 1583
Brother,
Today she called me her “Warter,” mocking my Devonshire accent while alluding to the verses I lately sent her.
Made bold, I asked, “Would you permit your ‘Warter’ to sail to North America and return laden with treasure for you? I will christen all the land in your name, and you shall see the size of your kingdom swell. That is the way to defeat Spain and her ambitions.” This was delivered in my intimate voice that causes maids to tremble. I swear she did too, being of flesh and blood like any woman.
She did not consent, but neither did she deny me.
W.R.
14 January 1584
Brother Carew,
At the New Year I gave Her Majesty a diamond worth even more than that costly cloak. I must go bankrupt if she does not yield soon.
Then she summoned me to her music room, making me wait while she practiced on her virginal. Finally she held up the jewel.
“Where shall I wear it?” she asked, touching her bosom through her sheer partlet. Then, “Fix it here,” she said, offering me her sleeve instead. But I, obeying my own impulse, took the stone and went to the window, where I etched this upon the pane:
“Fain would I climb, yet I fear to fall.” I kissed the diamond and laid it in Her Majesty’s palm, saying, “I pray you, be not so hard as this stone,” and took my leave.
But she commanded me to stay. She went to the window and with the same diamond began to scratch on the pane. Was she obliterating my words? Then she beckoned me to read what she had written beneath: “If thy heart fail thee, climb not at all.”
And then she said, “Do you know that water can wear away even the hardest stone?”
Brother, would you not take this for encouragement? I did, and thus I live in hope.
W.R.
Poetic Musings
I tire of waiting. Despair wrestles with my hopes. Did I presume too