Daughter of Satan (29 page)

But that was not an end to the matter. On that occasion after prayer with Humility the people had gone quietly away, but they continued to speak together of the witchcraft they feared was in their midst.

It was remembered that Tamar had saved her baby when the child was all but in the grave; it was even said that Lorea had already been dead, and that, by pledging the little girl to the Devil, her mother had brought it to life. They remembered how Simon, the pricker, had wanted to search Tamar and how she had prevailed on Richard Merriman to call her ‘daughter', and how she had put a spell on him as she did on all men . . . even Humility Brown.

She was more clever than a witch; she was the Devil himself, for the Devil was doubtless like God – three in one, an unholy trinity.

She had turned many people to witchcraft. Look at Annis – getting a cottage, and John Tyler to marry her, even though it was a bit late. Richard Merriman had always been a strange man, and he grew stranger. They had even made Mistress Alton one of them. For did she say anything about that witch, Jane Swann, being in the house? She would have been the first to see justice done before they had made a witch of her.

One night there was an attempt to burn down the house, but the fire was noticed almost at once and put out.

Richard was very thoughtful after that. He made inquiries about chartering ships, and he discussed with Humility what would be needed to fit out an expedition and sail away in the wake of the
Mayflower
.

John Tyler was arrested for questioning, and all those Puritans who had been attending Humility's meetings were thrown into a panic. They had heard of the way confessions were extracted, and they were afraid that, meek and gentle as John Tyler was, he was hardly the sort to stand up to such questionings. Humility, as the leader, suggested giving himself up; but Richard pointed out the folly of that. If Humility admitted to holding meetings in the place, there would be countless arrests.

Richard himself went to the magistrate in Plymouth, a man whom he had known as a friend. Richard was frank; he knew that the Government was eager to send men out to the New World to colonize under the English flag. On the Continent, recusants were punished with great severity; but all the English Government wanted to do was to get rid of them. It was ready even to assist those Dissenters who wished to leave the country. So Richard was able to secure John's release by explaining that he was making arrangements to charter a ship in which the Puritan community planned to leave the country for ever.

After that, Richard knew he was committed to proceed with this scheme which he had at first been inclined to treat as a fancy. He went into serious negotiations for a vessel of some one hundred tons, and was arranging with a certain Captain Flame to take her across the ocean.

More people were flocking to the meetings, excited by the rumours of emigration. Life was hard, and wonderful stories were circulated concerning the New World.

And then, as though momentous events could never come singly, a strange ship was one day sighted on the horizon. It was not an English ship – that much was apparent to eyes trained to look on English ships. It was a long, lean galley that cut through the water at astonishing speed and made straight for the Sound.

Bustle and excitement filled the town. Men got out their old guns, and sailors sharpened their cutlasses. But what was there to fear from one ship? Unless, of course, there were others following. The fleet was not in home waters and the sudden violent attack by the corsairs of Brittany was remembered.

Some of the old sailors declared the swiftly moving galley to be a Turk.

Tamar was on the Causeway when the galley came in. A sudden intuition had come to her; and her eyes sought one man among those lean and emaciated figures, but she could not find the one she sought.

But now the men had shipped their oars and were leaping out, embracing those about them. One of them stooped and touched the cobbles with his hands; then knelt and kissed them. In their rags of all shapes and colours, these men were scarcely recognizable as Englishmen; their skins had been burned to a dark brown; their beards were unkempt; and their bare backs showed the marks of the lash and other tortures.

And last to come ashore was the man for whom Tamar had looked. He could not remain unrecognized, this lean, emaciated giant, for his startlingly blue eyes betrayed his identity. He was laughing now; his teeth gleaming white in his lean, brown face, in which the bones seemed ready to pierce the skin. He was looking about him, and Tamar knew he was looking for her.

She ran to him. He caught her and held her; and she felt once more that excitement which she had not known since he went away.

The most bewildering and exhilarating moment of an eventful year was upon her. Bartle had come home.

He was back in his house at Stoke. Already he had lost that unkempt look. It was said that he and the men who had escaped with him were holding a prolonged feast at his house; he was going to keep them with him, for the ordeals through which they had passed together had made them his friends for ever. His cousin, who had inherited his title and estates when his father had died and he was believed lost, was still at the house, but he was preparing to leave.

Sir Bartle was the hero of the day and the toast of the county. Few men could have lived through what he had lived through; fewer still could have successfully escaped and brought his men home to safety.

It was a stirring story which Bartle and his crew had to tell. A few days out of Plymouth they had found themselves surrounded by Turkish galleys. Some of their crew were drowned, while others were taken prisoner and made to row in the galleys – a hardship such as only the strongest could endure. They were chained to the ship – six at one oar – and given only just enough food and drink to keep them alive. Any faintness or lack of energy was severely punished by the boatswain, who walked the gangway brandishing his lash, bringing it down when the mood took him, lacerating the flesh of his slaves. To this life had proud Bartle been condemned. The galleys only put to sea during the spring and summer, and in winter were laid up, when the galley slaves were confined in a foul prison until they should be needed again.

This life had Bartle and his men somehow miraculously endured for sixteen years; and during the last four Bartle had conceived and prepared the plan of escape, which, with the help of his fellow slaves, he had put into effect.

Discipline in the prison was lax; there were few gaolers to be spared – and, seizing an opportunity when a galley lay provisioned for the sea just beyond the walls of their prison, the men had broken out and, experienced as they were in handling this type of craft, were able to make good their escape.

It was a story of adventure, suffering and courage, which was typical of the seamen of the time. They accepted hardship
and death as natural; for, as Bartle said, there was not a man of them who did riot know before he set sail that he must face them.

Tamar felt that her outlook on life had changed with the coming of the galley. She had been prepared to accept life with Humility; she had been excited by the proposed emigration. But now . . . Bartle had come home.

It was late the very same day of his return that Bartle rode over to Pennicomquick. There had been just that one embrace down on the Causeway; then the crowd had surged round Bartle and she had taken the opportunity to escape, for her one wish at that moment had been to get away, to be alone, to think of the great upheaval which had so suddenly threatened to take place in her life.

She saw him arrive and went down to meet him.

He sat his horse, looking down at her. He had trimmed his beard and was wearing some of the elegant garments which he had worn before he went away. They hung loosely on his thin frame, but they gave him great dignity.

‘So,' he said, his blue eyes blazing, ‘you married the Puritan!'

‘Yes.'

Then Bartle laughed and his laughter was loud and mocking.

‘Why should it amuse you so?' she asked.

‘Why indeed! The witch . . . and the Puritan!'

‘I have three children,' she said.

‘I congratulate you. How many sons?'

‘One son; two daughters.'

‘A matron now,' he said.

She thought: He has not changed at all. I hate him now, just as I always did.

At that moment Ned Swann came from the stables and Bartle dismounted.

‘'Tis good to see you home, Sir Bartle,' said Ned.

‘Thank you, Swann,' said Bartle with one of his charming smiles.

‘Come into the house,' said Tamar. ‘Richard is eager to see you and hear of your adventures.'

He did not take his eyes from her as they went into the house, where Richard received him warmly.

‘Bartle . . . I never thought to have this pleasure . . .'

‘Nor I, sir.'

‘Bartle, my dear boy, come here. Let me look at you. The strength of you! To endure
that
for sixteen years!'

‘I'm made of sturdy stuff. I said: “By God and His Mother, I'll break out of this prison if I kill twenty guards to do it.”'

‘And did you?' asked Tamar.

‘No,' he answered. ‘Only ten.'

Humility came in, and Bartle bowed mockingly. ‘Why, 'tis the gardener fellow.' He looked haughtily down his long nose, while his sensuous lips curled. ‘I remember you, fellow.'

Tamar flushed. Richard said: ‘Have you not heard? Humility is my son-in-law.'

Bartle answered insolently: ‘Strange things happen at home and abroad, it seems.'

Then he sprawled in a chair and drank freely while he talked. He talked of his life as a galley slave, of blood and sweat and the loyalty of his men. He had hardened and coarsened during the years of slavery; his talk was spattered with violent oaths, which made Humility flinch every time they were uttered.

‘Mind you,' he said, ‘I did not suffer so acutely as some. I became a Moslem. That gave me a better life. I have scars – I could show you my back – scars that I'll carry to my grave. But I came off lightly. There were some who were beaten to death. Not me. I bowed down to Allah and saved my skin.'

Tamar saw that Humility was praying. Bartle saw it too.

‘What do you whisper, man?' he demanded.

‘Prayers,' said Humility.

Bartle was immediately truculent. ‘I shock you. That is so. My good fellow, you could not endure a day in the galleys, with all your prayers to help you. Why, 'twas a plaguey sight easier to arrange an escape as a good Moslem. A Christian could never have done it. By Christ, I tell you that, had I stuck to my faith and said my prayers, I and my men would be getting ready now for another season in the galleys. It was a far better thing to become a temporary Moslem than that.'

‘Of course!' said Tamar, looking scornfully at Humility; but as Bartle laughed she gave him a haughty stare; then it seemed to her that she was no longer a woman in her thirties, the mother of three children; she was a young girl again, trembling because a man who had once been her lover had come back.

Richard told Bartle of the proposed expedition to the New World, to which Bartle listened with great interest.

His eyes glittered as they rested on Tamar. ‘So you are leaving this land. You are going to seek your fortune elsewhere.' He lifted his glass and kept his eyes fixed on Tamar's face. ‘The best of good fortune to you. May you get the good luck you deserve.'

Tamar bowed her head because she feared what this man might arouse in her; she said she must leave them, as she had to see to the children. But Bartle said he wished to meet the children, and there was nothing she could do but bring them down.

Dick – who had already heard of his miraculous escape – stood before Bartle, his cheeks rosy with excitement, his dark eyes shining with admiration. Rowan climbed at once on to his knee and, when he asked for a kiss, would not stop kissing him and pulling his beard. Only little Lorea, who was different from the others, hung back shyly; but when he held out a hand and drew her to him even she was overcome by that fascination which he obviously had for all children.

Over their heads Bartle's eyes held Tamar's and they seemed to say: ‘These should have been ours. The Puritan should have had no hand in making them.'

She hurried them away as soon as she could. She was between laughter and tears. She was alive again . . . because Bartle had come home.

She was afraid to ride out on the moors in case he should follow her there. There were too many vivid memories crowding back. She only dared talk to him when other people were present.

Each day she saw him it was brought home to her how little he had really changed. His eyes mocked her as they had
mocked all those years ago. She saw their burning brightness when they rested on her; their contemptuous hatred when they looked towards Humility. One day, she thought, he will come to me with a proposition, as he did before. It will be, ‘If you do not . . . I will . . .' Yes; he had changed very little.

She tried to shut out from her mind all thought of anything but the expedition. She would sit with Richard and Humility making lists of provisions. It was spring, and they would sail before the summer was over.

Bartle was charming Dick and Rowan; and even Lorea could be induced to ride on his shoulders. Annis' children ran at his heels begging to be allowed to ride on his horse. They all adored him. From the windows, Tamar often watched him, sprawled on the lawn with young Dick beside him, and she knew from the absorbed expression on the boy's face that he was hearing some wild tale of the sea; and she knew that Bartle was thinking: This boy might have been mine.

How glad she was that soon they would sail away from England, away from surroundings which echoed with memories, away from Bartle.

She had lied to Humility, telling him that she was once more pregnant. She could not bear him near her now. She felt that it was better that he should keep away altogether than that, when he knelt by her bedside and prayed for her fertility, she should shout at him something which she would later regret; she might even convey to him that she found him repulsive, or confess her relationship with Bartle before their marriage.