Like Chaff in the Wind (8 page)

Chapter 11

Coleridge had it down pat, Alex thought, hanging over the railing. A hell of a lot of water, miles and miles of empty shimmering sea, and not a bloody drop to drink… She licked her lips, wincing as the cracks broke open again. She did another turn back and forth across the poop deck and fanned herself. It wasn’t funny actually; she could see in Captain Miles face that he was more than worried, and the crew was getting restless, the men scanning the sky with hopeful eyes that glazed at the sight of the perfect, unclouded blue. Yesterday a fight had broken out by the water barrel, and the captain and his mate had used cudgels to break it up, removing the barrel to stand under the beady eye of the cook.

Four weeks of strange winds and long stretches of lying becalmed; Captain Miles had never experienced anything like it, he told Alex, all the while straining his eyes in all directions for any sign that this weather would break. He looked exhausted, a greyish tinge to his skin that made Alex worry he might be developing a heart condition.

“So, do you know where we are?” Alex said.

“Aye, ma’am, I do. Much too far to the south.”

Well, that didn’t impress her – she could have told him that, given the heat. He studied the sky to the north, shielded his eyes with his hand, and looked for a long time at something he saw on the horizon.

“But we won’t stay becalmed for long, it’ll rain before the evening.”

Alex gave him an incredulous look and made a great show of scanning the bright blue skies.

Captain Miles smiled and bowed, muttering something about needing to talk to the cook.

In the event Captain Miles was right, too right, and yet again the
Regina Anne
bucked in a transformed sea, sails trimmed as much as they could. Alex spent three miserable days in her berth and when she made it out on deck, it was to a speeding ship as the captain attempted to make up for lost time. Very many weeks of lost time as Alex pointed out, acerbically dropping a comment that tomorrow, the twenty-fourth of August, was her birthday, and she had hoped to spend the day reunited with her husband, not stuck in the middle of the sea.

“
Dios manda, querida
,” Don Benito said, patting Alex’s hand. “At least now we won’t thirst to death.” No, but perhaps starve. Alex spent more time picking weevils out of the dry biscuits than actually eating anything. Not that she wanted to, shivering all over at the thought of swallowing one of those disgusting little bugs by mistake.

“There are definite advantages to modern life at time,” Alex said. “Like now, a plane wouldn’t come amiss.” Don Benito listened with interest as Alex described a plane, insisting that she draw one for him as well.

“Seven hours to cross the ocean?” Don Benito stared down at the birdlike shape she had drawn on the deck.

“They’re pretty fast.” She studied the priest and laughed. “Should you really be believing everything I tell you?”

Don Benito gave her a confused look. “Are you lying?”

“No, but I would have thought the normal reaction to my story would be to make the sign against evil and tie me to a stake.” She glanced at him nervously. Maybe that’s what he intended to do once they made landfall; have her dragged off to stand in front of a tribunal as a witch.

“Are you a witch?” Don Benito asked, his lips twitching.

“Of course not!”

“Well then,” Don Benito shrugged. He frowned down at the water. “Why shouldn’t I believe you? Do you think your tale is that extraordinary?”

Alex made a derisive noise. “Why would I think that? I keep on falling over time travellers all the time.”

“There are probably more than you think. And to a man that accepts the miracle of God’s creation, of Immaculate Conception and the birth of God’s son as a mere human, your story is just another example of God’s amazing…His amazing…”

“…sense of humour?” Alex suggested.

Don Benito laughed. “God most certainly has a sense of humour, but I was looking for another word…complexity! Yes, that’s it.”

“Hmm,” Alex replied.

*

“I’ve decided to make for Barbados,” Captain Miles informed them over supper.

“Barbados?” Alex said. “But that’s miles from Virginia!”

“I have to get the ship repaired, and we lack victuals to make it all the way to Virginia.”

“And how long will that take?” Two weeks? A month? Surely not more than that, right?

“I make it that we will be in Barbados in four weeks at best, and then some months for repairs…I am sorry Mrs Graham, but you won’t make it to Virginia this year. The seas are restless in the final months of the year – only a fool would attempt a crossing.” He threw out his hands in a helpless gesture. “What am I to do? l have a damaged ship, a crew to pay, and a hold of starving lasses.”

“And from Barbados to Virginia? How long does that take?” Alex tried to sound matter-of-fact, when all she really wanted to do was retreat to her cabin and cry. But she couldn’t, could she? After all, she’d made herself a promise.

Captain Miles pursed his mouth. “Anything from three weeks to six.”

Alex frowned while she calculated how much this would cost her. So far, she had plenty of money left in one form or another, she and Mrs Gordon carried important quantities sown into their waistbands. But a month, or even several months, in Barbados…

“And will you be reimbursing me for the passage? I bought a passage to Virginia, not to Barbados.”

Captain Miles dragged a hand over his face. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Once the ship is repaired I’ll sail you up to Jamestown myself. But it will not be this year. I’m sorry for that, but it is out of my hands.”

Alex pressed her hands against her churning stomach and Captain Miles wilted under her eyes.

“He’ll be alright, your man will be waiting for you.”

“How do you know?” She stood up so abruptly the chair fell over backwards. “How the hell do you know?”

Don Benito rose and placed a hand on her arm. “I think the captain means that it would take a very brave man to die away from you.”

She shrugged him off and left the cabin at half run.

*

She woke when she hit the floor, and rolled over onto her hands and knees. What a terrible dream! Her whole back hurt, as if the flogging she’d been dreaming of had been for real. Something was missing; she stood on all fours and searched for his beat, the sound of his heart, but inside her it was silent – very silent. Oh God, she gulped, he’s dead! She sat down with a thud, and closed her eyes, listening inwardly with such concentration her head began to throb. Don’t you dare Matthew Graham, don’t you dare give up!

“Move,” she whispered to the supine shape she saw in her head. “Move and go on living!” Fingers twitched, and inside of her the sonar echo of his heart began to thud. Slow and steady, deep and strong. She sank her face into her hands.

*

Next morning Don Benito came over to stand beside her. “What is the matter?”

She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “I dreamt,” she said, eyes fixed on the swift dark shapes that escorted the ship underwater. “Do you think it’s possible? That I can somehow dream of things that are happening to him? Because I do, and last night I dreamt that he almost died, that he no longer wanted to live.” She wrinkled her brow in concentration. “But I told him; I told him that he had to live, and I saw him move.” Alex fisted her hand and studied her wedding ring. What had they done to her Matthew, to her beautiful man, to leave him lifeless on the ground?

“I dream too,” Don Benito sighed. “Night after night I dream, and I see her as she must be, not as she was, so yes, I believe it is possible to dream of what happens to someone you love.” He turned to lean back against the railings, watching the mother who sat nursing her baby by the main mast. “I have a son.” He filled his lungs and looked at Alex. “I’ve never seen him and never will, but his mother walks my waking mind, she sits burning in my heart, and when I close my eyes to sleep, I see her, and in her arms she holds a child.”

“Is she pretty?”

Don Benito made a dismissive gesture. “I don’t think so, she’s no Helen, not even a Juliet. But to me she is beautiful, she has a smile that can melt a heart of stone, and when she laughs it sounds like rain falling in a pewter bucket. And I was wrong to ever touch her.” He scratched at his chest for some time. The heavy hair shirt must be a torment in this heat, but when Alex had suggested he might stop using it, he’d gone rigid, telling her that he was honour bound to wear it, a just penance for breaking his priestly vows.

“She’s married since several months back, to a much older man. I hope he treats her kindly.” He looked away. “I never intended to, I have been a priest for over fifteen years, and I have never had a problem with that particular vow. Until I met her, a woman I could laugh with.”

“How did you meet?” Alex said, imagining all sorts of sordid scenes in the confessional booth.

“She was a maid in waiting to the princess Henriette,” Don Benito said, “probably chosen for her somewhat plain face and her lovely voice. I was the chaplain, the up and coming man of God, delighted to find himself chosen by the queen mother to be a member of the exiled royal household.” He grimaced. “It was wrong; I was entrusted with her spiritual wellbeing, and she came to talk to me so often about what she perceived as her vocation to serve Christ, her eyes glittering with longing. And then one evening as she was leaving, she placed her hand on my sleeve and just…she just kissed me.” The tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips, as if he were recapturing a sensation once experienced and since then lost.

In a low voice he detailed months of clandestine meetings, long afternoons spent in secret designations that were put to a brutal end the day the queen mother came upon them.

“She threatened me with public exposure, and berated poor Louise for having had the temerity to seduce a man of the Church. I tried to tell her that wasn’t how it was, but my lady queen ordered me to be quiet.”

The next day he had been removed to a nearby Benedictine abbey, charged with doing heavy penance to expiate his sin. A month later a messenger came from the queen, and he was informed that he had to find a home for the expected child.

“I turned to my brother, and he showed me great kindness by promising to raise the child as his own.” At a price, he added, looking towards the east. Raúl had made it very clear that Benito was no longer welcome in Seville, disgraced priest that he was. And so it was all decided; Louise was to have the child and give it up, and then she would be hurriedly wed – to a man chosen by the queen mother.

“I was never allowed to see her again, not even to write to her. Instead I was sent to accompany his Majesty when he returned to his kingdom last year.”

Alex raised her brows, thinking he couldn’t have loved this unknown Louise all that much, given how quickly he had given up. He frowned, shifting from foot to foot as he studied her face.

“You have not been much about the royals, have you? There is very little an ordinary man can do.”

“Elope? Ride off into the night?”

He made a disparaging sound. Louise was used to a high level of comfort, how was he to keep her in such style? Well, he had her there. Alex had no idea what a former priest could do for a living, suspecting that whatever options available would lead to penury.

“Are you still a priest?” Alex asked.

“Yes, I will remain always a priest. The ordination is a sacrament that cannot be reversed, but somehow I feel God has turned his face away from me. I have been charged with a mission, and that’s why I’m going to Virginia. Not as a representative of the Tabacalera.” He turned towards her. “I’m carrying certain things from the King to his Governor, that much is true, but my main task has been given me by his mother. I am to spread the word of God – among the heathen Indian tribes.” He looked at her bleakly. “Do you think they will be willing to listen? Or do you think they will put me to death?”

“I don’t know.” She gnawed at her lip. “I don’t think you should do this, to me it smells of petty revenge, not of any genuine wish to bring the word of God to the Indians.”

Don Benito blinked. “Not do as I’ve been ordered to?”

“Who would ever know?” She scrunched up her brows, thinking hard. “You could go south; to Cartagena de las Indias, or Lima. They would never ask where you came from or what you were fleeing from. No one would ever know.”

“I would,” he said severely. “And so would God.”

“Was it worth it?” Alex asked after a few minutes.

“No, it wasn’t. Had I fully understood the consequences, I think I would have held firmer to my vow, for her sake and mine.” He exhaled loudly. “But I will love her, I think, until the day I die. Her and my son, the boy I’ll never see.”

Mrs Gordon was very impressed when Alex told her Don Benito was off to christen the heathen, voicing that even being a papist was better than living like an unknowing savage in the woods.

“Not that he will last long, narrow like a lass over the shoulders, and not much flesh on him at all.”

“Yes, you would know,” Alex murmured. “Seeing as you’ve been spying on him.”

Mrs Gordon chuckled and adjusted her collar to lie closer to her skin.

“He’s right good looking, yon wee priest, well, he would be, if he weren’t all red with rash.” She bent down to rummage through her capacious canvas bag. After a while, she gave a satisfied grunt and came up with a small stone jar, extending it to Alex. “You give it to him, it might help, no?”

Alex shook her head. “He wants it to hurt, that’s why he’s wearing that thing.”

*

The last few weeks on the
Regina Anne
were miserable. Alex was torn in two with longing; she yearned for her son during the day and dreamed of her man at night, and the dreams were of a man that stared at her in supplication, hazel eyes dulled with months of toil. She woke to pillows that were soaked with her tears and a certainty that she had to hurry to his side, and she twisted in frustration because there was nothing she could do, no way she could hasten her voyage towards him. She avoided them all, sitting in solitude by the bow, her eyes locked on the west as she pleaded with him in her head to not give up.