The Lion Triumphant (46 page)

Life was cheap to men like Jake. I saw a vivid picture in my mind of that scene when he had run his sword through Felipe’s body. How many men had he killed? And did his conscience ever worry him? But they were enemies. Spaniards! I was his wife.

Yet if he wanted me out of the way…

I sat at my window looking out. I could not face him. For the first time I felt unable to stand up to him. Always before I had been conscious of his great need for me. Now I doubted it.

I went to the mirror and looked at myself. I was no longer young. I was in my mid-forties and getting too old to bear sons. One does not notice one is growing old. One feels as one did at twenty … twenty-five, say, and imagines one is still that age. But the years leave their marks. The anxieties of life etched lines around the eyes and mouth.

I was not a young woman anymore. Nor was he a young man. But men such as Jake never feel their age. They still desire young women and think they should be theirs by right.

I went back to the window and sat down.

The door opened softly and Linnet was there.

“Mother,” she said, “what are you doing here?”

“I was looking out of the window.”

“You are not well.”

She came and looked at me searchingly.

“Are you ill?”

“No, no. A little headache.”

I took the bottle of ale to the apothecary in one of the little streets close to the Hoe.

I knew him well. He mixed scents for me and I often bought his herb concoctions.

I asked if I might speak to him in private and he conducted me into a little room behind the shop. Drying herbs hung on the beams and there were pleasant smells which were intensified during simple time.

“I wonder if you could tell me what this ale contains?” I said to him.

He looked astonished.

“I fancied that it was not as it should be and I thought you might be able to tell me why.”

He took the bottle from me and smelled it.

“Who is your brewer?” he asked.

“I do not think this has anything to do with the brewer. The rest in the cask was well enough.”

“Something has been added,” he said. “Could you give me a little time and I might be able to discover what?”

“Please do,” I said. “I will call in two days’ time.”

“I think I shall have an answer for you then,” he replied.

I went back to Lyon Court and there seemed to be a sudden menace about it. The lions which guarded the porch looked sly as well as fierce, sinister as well as handsome. I felt that I was being watched from one of the windows, though through which I could not say.

The thought kept recurring: Someone in that house wants me out of the way.

I was sure now that my soup had been poisoned. And now the ale.

So much depended on what the apothecary would have to tell me in two days’ time.

I was sleeping badly; I was pale and there were dark shadows under my eyes. I would lie in bed with Jake beside me and say: Does he want to be rid of me?

I thought of life without him and I felt wretched and lonely. I wanted him there; I wanted him to go on desiring me more than I desired him. I wanted to quarrel with him. In short, I wanted to return to the old relationship.

But he had changed. I had thought it was because he had become preoccupied with the coming war with Spain. But was this so?

Strange things began to happen.

Carrying a candle, I was mounting after dusk the stairs to the turret whither I had been earlier that day. I had discovered that I had lost a bow of ribbon from my gown and wondered if it was there. It was lonely in that wing of the house. Normally I should not have thought of this, but of late I had become nervous and was startled at the least sound. And as I mounted the spiral staircase I thought I heard a noise above me. I paused. The candle in my hand cast an elongated shadow on the wall. I noticed what looked like a grotesque face there—but it was only the shadow caused by the shape of the candlestick.

I stood very still. I was sure I could hear someone’s breathing above me. The turn of the staircase made it impossible to see more than a few steps ahead and I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. All my instincts were warning me that I was in danger.

“Who is there?” I cried.

There was no answer, but I fancied I heard a quick intake of breath.

“Come down, whoever is there,” I called.

There was still no answer.

I felt as though I were rooted to the staircase. For some seconds I could not move. Someone was waiting for me up there … someone who had sent me to Mary Lee’s cottage, someone who had poisoned my soup and my ale.

Good sense was saying: Don’t go up there. Don’t attempt to find out now. This is not the time. It could be fatal if you took another step.

I thought I heard a board creak. And turning, I ran down the stairs as fast as I could.

I went to my room. I lay on my bed. My heart was beating madly. I was frightened. This was unlike me, but recent events had shaken me more than I had realized and I was not in my usual good health.

I must be strong, I thought. I must find out what was happening. I must know if someone was in fact threatening me.

You know, said a voice within me.

I don’t believe it, I answered myself. He couldn’t. I know he has killed many times. He has taken what he wanted … always. Oh, no, it can’t be.

But why not, if he no longer wanted me? Why not, if I stood between him and something he wanted? Perhaps a young woman who could give him sons.

The door of my room opened suddenly. I knew it was Jake who had come in.

Had he come straight here from the turret? What would he do now?

Could it really be that he wished to be rid of me? Fiercely he had wanted me once; now did he as fiercely want someone else. Jake allowed nothing and no one to stand in the way of his desires. The lives of others, what were they? I kept thinking of Felipe lying dead on the floor of the Hacienda.

Jake had never shown any remorse about killing him.

He was standing by my bed looking down at me. He whispered my name quietly, not roaring it as he did so often.

I did not answer. I could not face him now with these dreadful suspicions in my mind. I could not say to him, “Jake, are you going to kill me?”

I was afraid.

So I pretended to sleep and after a few minutes he went away.

I went to the apothecary’s shop.

He bowed when he saw me and invited me into the room where the herbs were drying on the oak beams.

“I have found traces of Ergot in your ale,” he said.

“Ergot?”

“It’s a parasite which grows on grass, very often on rye. It contains poisons known as ergotoxine, ergometrine and ergotamine. It is very poisonous.”

“How could it get into the ale?”

“It could be put in.”

“How could it be?”

“The leaves could be boiled and the liquid added. I believe people have died through eating bread which had been made from rye which had this parasite growing on it.”

“I see. Then the ale I brought you was poisoned?”

“It contained Ergot.”

I thanked him and paid him well for his trouble. I intimated that I did not wish him to discuss this matter with anyone at the moment and he tactfully gave me to understand that he realized my wishes and would respect them.

As I walked back to Lyon Court I tried to remember the little I had learned from my grandmother about the things that grew in the fields and which could be used to advantage in cooking.

I remember her saying: “You must know the difference between good and evil. That’s the secret, Catharine. Mushrooms now. There’s many been caught on mushrooms. The most tasty food you could find; but there’s wicked growth that masquerades as good in the fields as there is with people. And you must not be deceived by looks. There’s Fly Agaric, which looked wicked enough; there’s stinking Hellebore, which would drive you off with its smell; but the Death Cap toadstool and the Destroying Angel are white and innocent-looking as any good mushroom.”

I had been amused by the names of Death Cap and Destroying Angel and also my grandmother’s earnestness. Perhaps that was why I had remembered.

Someone had put a Death Cap or Destroying Angel into my soup. Someone had put Ergot into my ale. A long time ago someone had sent me to Mary Lee’s cottage. Someone wanted me dead.

If I was going to save my life I must find out who was my would-be murderer.

I laughed at myself and said: You know.

But I wouldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe … not then. It was not until later.

How strange it is that one does not see something which concerns one deeply and would be obvious to many. And then suddenly one discovers something which can be linked with other things and the truth is revealed.

I was looking from my window and I saw the three of them by the pond. Romilly, Jake and Penn.

Penn had a model of a ship and he was sailing it on the pond. Jake knelt down beside him and guided the ship. I could see he was pointing out something to Penn.

Romilly stood there, arms folded, the sunlight gleaming on her luxuriant hair; there was something about her which told me. She was complacent, satisfied. And I knew.

Romilly and Jake! He had brought her to this house as a young girl—was she twelve or thirteen? She had not cared when the tutor had been found in Jennet’s bed, for he was nothing to her. She had been ready to marry him, though. Yes, because she knew that she was to bear a child.

Jake had said: “We must care for her. Her father was one of the best men I ever sailed with.”

He did not add: “And she is my mistress.”

But of course it was so.

When Jake came into our bedroom I said to him, “Penn is your son.”

He did not attempt to deny it.

“So under my own roof…”

“It is my roof,” he replied shortly.

“She is your mistress.”

“She bore me a son.”

“You have lied to me.”

“I did not. You did not ask. You presumed it was the tutor’s. There seemed no reason to upset you with the truth.”

“You brought that girl into the house to be your mistress.”

“That’s a lie. I brought her here because she needed a home.”

“The good Samaritan.”

“God’s Death! Cat, I couldn’t leave an old seaman’s daughter of that age to fend for herself.”

“So you brought her here to bear your bastard. I wonder what her father would say to that?”

“He’d be delighted. He was a sensible man.”

“As I should be, I suppose?”

“No, I wouldn’t expect that of you.”

“You are a considerate husband.”

“Oh, come, Cat, what’s done is done.”

“And the girl is still here. Is there another on the way?”

“Stop this. The girl had a child. It was mine. There, you know. What’s to it? I was home from sea. You were having a daughter. There’s little time I have ashore.”

“You have to make up for your celibacy at sea of course, because raping dignified girls and sending them mad does not count. You have much to answer for, Jake Pennlyon.”

“As much as most men, I’ll swear. Oh, stop it, Cat. I took the girl. There’s no harm done. She has a fine boy who is a joy to her.”

“And a joy to you.”

“Why not? I get no sons from you. You can get a son with a Spaniard and for me … daughters … nothing but daughters.”

“Oh, I do hate you, I do!”

“You have said that often enough, God knows.”

“I had thought that we might come to some good life. I had pictured us … our grandchildren in our garden … and you contented…”

“I’m not ill content. I’ve got three fine boys that I know of. And I wouldn’t want to part with one of them. Understand that, Cat. Not one of them. I’m proud to own them. Proud, I say.”

“Proud of the manner in which they were begotten, I doubt not. One from rape of an innocent child, the other one a lustful serving girl and another on this sly creeping …
insect
who crawls into my house … who is a poor little orphan who lies about the tutor and all the time is laughing because she has your child.”

“Oh, come, Cat, it’s long ago.”

“Long ago, is it? Is she not still your mistress? I see it all now. The ribbons she puts in her hair; the manner in which she pushes the boy under your feet. What plans has she, this sly little crawling thing? What does she hope for, to take my place?”

He was alert I fancied. “How could that be! Don’t talk nonsense, Cat.”

“Is it nonsense?” I asked slowly. “How do I know what is happening in the house? I am deceived all the time. My daughters are nothing to you. But you have ever made much of your bastards.”

“They are my sons.”

“Mayhap this woman … this Romilly could give you more sons. She has given you one. I am beginning to understand. I see so much.”

“You see what you want to see. You are an arrogant woman. You led me a dance as no other woman has. You belonged to a Spaniard before you did to me. You gave him a son and what have I had?”

“Was it my fault? Everything that has happened has been due to you. You raped Isabella, Felipe’s bride. It was on you that he sought to revenge himself. What have I ever been but a counter in your games … your wicked cruel games? Jake Pennlyon, I wish to God I had never seen you. It was an ill day for me when I met you on the Hoe.”

“You mean that?”

“With all my heart,” I cried. “You blackmailed me because of what you saw in the leper’s squint.”

“You were playing a game with me. Did you think I didn’t know that. You wanted me as I wanted you.”

“So that I pretended to have the sweat to escape you?”

“By God, I’ll never forgive you for that.”

“What does it matter, eh, now that you have Romilly? She gave you a son. She can give you sons … sons … sons … for as many breeding years as are left to her.”

“She could,” he said.

“They would only be your bastards unless…”

“Who cares for that?” he said. “I have three fine boys and I’m proud of them.”

I wanted him then to seize me, to shake me roughly as he had done so many times before. I wanted him to tell me that it was nonsense. Penn was his son. He had gone to her when I was ill and he was sick with disappointment because I had not given him a son. I wanted him to tell me that it was all over and done with. That he had been unfaithful as I knew he must have been a hundred times … a thousand times during his long voyages from home.