The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [186]
‘We shall lose our inheritance,’ he had cautioned.
‘And keep our lives. If she commits us to treason we shall lock her up.’
He did not blame her. She was probably right; but the thought of losing all that money was very hard for him; which was why even now – for his children’s sake, he told himself – he was temporizing with his mother, playing for time. ‘I sent a servant up to Malwood, Mother,’ he pointed out for the third time. ‘If the beacons signal any approach, I shall be told at once.’
‘The beacons.’ She said it with disgust.
‘They work very well, Mother,’ he said firmly. ‘Where do you think I should be? Down at the coast with my men already? Ready to silence the guns at Hurst Castle?’ He regretted it even before he finished speaking.
Her face lit up. ‘Yes, Clement. Yes. Do that, I beg you. Be ready, at least, to strike quickly. Why do you hesitate? Go at once.’
Albion stared thoughtfully at the gleaming candles. If he went out upon this errand, would it pacify her? Was that the sensible thing to do? Perhaps. But at the same time, another idea was in his mind. He was quite sure the Armada was not heading into the western Solent. They had been too far out to sea. But what if they came in at Portsmouth, just past the Isle of Wight? Or at any of the havens along the southern coast? There was Parma to consider, too. What about his great army in the Netherlands? That could be landing by the Thames even as they spoke. His mother might be dangerous; she might be mad. But was she wrong? It was the calculation he had never shared even with his wife. The time was very close. If the Spanish landed they might win. If they won, shouldn’t he be on their side? How could he discover who was winning? There were probably not a few Englishmen who were thinking such thoughts that night.
And surely, he considered, when there was a strong chance his mother’s cause might triumph it would be foolish indeed to make of her, his greatest advocate, an enemy.
‘Very well, Mother. You may be right.’ He turned to his wife. ‘You and my mother should remain here and tell no one I have gone. There are some good men I can trust.’ This was pure invention. ‘I shall gather them now and we shall go down to the shore. If the Spanish show signs of landing …’ He hadn’t, in truth, any idea what he would do, but his mother was beaming.
‘Thank God, Clement. At last. God will reward you.’
Not long afterwards Albion rode out of his house in the wood and made his way southwards towards Lymington. If he was going to stay out all night, he considered, he might as well be down at the shore. Who knew? Something might happen.
Behind him his wife and his mother sat quietly in the parlour. Some of the candles had been snuffed. The room was bathed in a soft, pleasant glow.
After a while the older woman yawned. ‘I think’, she said, ‘I may rest for a little while. Will you promise to wake me as soon as there is any news?’
‘Of course.’
The Lady Albion went over, kissed her daughter-in-law on the forehead and yawned again. ‘Very well, then,’ she said and, taking a candle, left the room. A few moments later Albion’s wife heard her enter her chamber. Then there was silence. She waited, snuffing out all but one of the candles, after which she went up to her own bed, got in as quickly as she could and laid down her head. As far as she was concerned her mother-in-law could sleep until doomsday.
And she was fast asleep herself, half an hour later, when the Lady Albion quietly stole out of the house.
Everything was pitch-black when Don Diego awoke. For a few moments he stared