Travellers in Magic (18 page)

The king's men returned a few days later. He was pacing his cell again when they came; he knew its measurements to within an inch on every side. This time they seemed cautious, unwilling to promise anything. “How can we be certain there is such a place as El Dorado?” one of them said.

“You know that I've visited Guiana once before,” he said, and then stopped. Did they, in fact, know anything at all? Gone were the days when his doings furnished gossip for all of London. “In 1595, over twenty years ago. All along the river we heard stories about the city of gold, and its tall golden towers and streets of silver. The little children there use precious stones to play with. And in their ceremonies their chieftain covers himself with oil and his men take hollow canes and blow powdered gold over his body. The Golden One, they call him.”

He saw how eagerly the men looked up at the mention of gold. He would have to play variations on that tune, find ways of introducing the subject again and again.

“Why did your expedition turn back?”

“We were hungry and tired, and many of us were sick. We had spent most of our time trying to find our way out of the Orinoco delta. And I expected to be back within the year. Certainly I did not think so much time would have passed before I could return.”

He realized he spoke as if the king had already granted him his pardon. Perhaps he should be more circumspect. Nay, why should he be? It was the king who had humbled himself and come to entreat with him; these men were the supplicants, not he.

“Why do you think you'll find El Dorado this time?”

“Because we learned how to navigate the delta. When I return I'll be able to sail directly up the river, toward the city of gold.”

“Will you take treasure from the Spaniards?”

He grinned. “Certainly. How else could I raise funds for the expedition?”

“The king forbids it. He wants to make peace with Spain.”

Peace with Spain, Elizabeth's old enemy? It was nearly unthinkable. What else had happened at court while he had been imprisoned?

They kept him talking for hours, circling him so that he was never sure who would speak next. Days later they came back with more questions, and they returned often after that. When they left he would review what they had asked, how he had answered. Had he seemed confident, but not so confident that James would have reason to fear him? Could they trust him to remember a voyage he had made over twenty years ago? He tried to find out from them what the king thought, but he could discover nothing.

Then, on a day like every other day, so that he had had no warning, no time to plan, they signaled to the jailer and let him go free.

He sent a messenger to his wife Bess in Sherbourne immediately, telling her about his release. Then, while the king and his men waited anxiously for him to meet with navigators, sailors, shipbuilders and merchants, he spent days doing nothing but walking the streets of London. The skies that week were overcast, but to him everything seemed too bright, as if he'd stepped out into a summer's day at noon. He had to squint to take it all in. He laughed a little to himself. Why should he hazard his life to travel half a world away? Here in front of him lay El Dorado, the city of gold.

London had changed as if with a wave of a sorcerer's wand. Streets that had been mud when he had gone into the Tower were paved over with cobblestones. New buildings had gone up or been magicked out of recognition; in the Strand his own former house, Durham House, had become part of a two story arcade of shops.

But the hardest thing of all to understand was Westminster Abbey, where Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth, Catholic and Protestant, now lay side by side in their carved tombs. How could they have forgotten the half-sisters' enmity in so short a time? Was he the only one who remembered? Could it be that he was unfit to live in this world?

And always, wherever he walked, he saw the walls of his prison cell, hemming his vision in. His heart would pound, and he would have to turn quickly to make sure this was not some evil dream, that he had truly left the Tower. Then the outlines would fade and he would be back in London, a traveller from the fantastic past.

After a few days Bess arrived in London. She had visited him often in the Tower—his son Carew had even been conceived there—but there was a world of difference between seeing her as a prisoner and as a free man. They spent long hours talking over his plans and the voyage ahead. She was worried for him, of course, but she understood that he had no choice. It was only by finding El Dorado that James would grant him his freedom. Neither one said what they both thought, that if he failed he would at best be sent back to the Tower to rot. At the worst he would lose his life.

“Why don't you take the ships and set sail for another country?” she asked him. “You did good service in France—they would certainly remember you there, and treat you well.”

“I can't, Bess,” he said. “I have a commission from the king.” But he wondered if he was telling her the truth, or if it was only his famous pride that kept him from doing as she suggested. He was an old man of sixty-three now, and he felt every one of his years. How could he be certain he would succeed? But nay—he could not let himself think that way.

And then, to the great relief of the king's informer who had been despatched to follow him, he began finally to ready himself for the voyage. His son Wat, who was to sail with him, came to London from Sherbourne. He met with captains, and saw shipbuilders in Deptford, and arranged for the sale of everything he owned to pay for the fleet. On June 12, 1617, he and his men set sail for Guiana.

His return to Guiana was marked by one disaster after another. Most of his crew became ill on the voyage, and one of the ships went down in a storm; not enough of his sailors had remained well enough to man it. And he caught the fever as well; when they reached the island of Trinidad he had to stay behind and recover while his son and others went on.

Two months later they returned with the worst possible news: against all orders the men had attacked the Spanish fort of San Thome. Two had died, one of them his impetuous son Wat.

It seemed to signal the end of all his hopes. He returned to his cabin and stayed there for days, thinking and writing in his journal. How could he break the news about their son to Bess? And what would James say when he returned without the location of El Dorado?

By the third day he came to a decision. He would not think about failure. He had hazarded much on this last great expedition, and he would succeed. Fortune's wheel would turn for him: he would come home in triumph, his ships heavy with the gold they carried. It would be his enemies, all the small-minded men who had gleefully predicted his failure, who would be laid low. He grinned and rubbed his leg, which had stiffened with sitting too long. By God, he would show them something about pride.

He chose men hastily and led them on board a wherry, and they set sail for El Dorado.

The journey down the Orinoco River was uneventful. They passed the Spanish fort and landed near the junction of the Orinoco and Caroni Rivers, and then went inland, following the landmarks Walter remembered.

As they walked Walter felt memories of his last voyage come flooding back. The bright birds, colorful as any fashionable court, crimson and purple and green. The strange smell in the air, half rottenness and half the odor of new growth. The grass as short as that of any parkland, cropped by the deer that walked over it unafraid.

But the plains seemed too vast; the grassland opened out like the sea in front of him. As he walked he saw the walls of his old prison rise up to contain it. He felt a prisoner's fondness for his cell, where he had had everything he needed, books and plants and chemicals. Infinite riches in a little room, he thought, remembering a line from a play by his old friend Christopher Marlowe. But Kit Marlowe was dead now, like too many others.

One of his men, Francis Molyneux, had come up beside him and said something to him. “What?” Walter asked.

“Look, sir,” the man said.

He looked. Hundreds of tiny gold pebbles lay on the ground, sparkling in the sun. A few of the men were bending eagerly to pick them up. “Leave them,” Walter said. “There'll be far more than this when we get to the mine.”

He tilted his head to study the sun, trying to gauge how much longer they would be able to march. Afternoon had come while he had been deep in thought. Gold swam before his eyes.

They walked a few hours more. As the sun set they began to look for a place to make camp. Birds sang. On his last voyage he had seen termites and ants, snakes and the small boars called peccaries, and now he studied the ground carefully, trying to find a place where they would be safe.

“Sweet God,” someone said in a high, terrified voice.

He looked up quickly. A group of people were heading for the camp, their shapes indistinct in the fading light. As they came closer he felt his heart turn cold. A premonition, he thought, terrified to his soul. An apparition. A warning of what might happen to me. For the men who approached the camp were headless.

Nay, not headless. He almost laughed with giddiness. Their eyes were in their shoulders, and they had mouths in the middle of their breasts. The Ewaipanoma. He had heard of them on his last expedition and had believed the stories, though some had doubted. He motioned to a man who knew some Spanish. “Hugh,” he said, not taking his eyes from the strange beings in front of him. “Come here. I need you to translate.”

Hugh moved next to him. “We greet you in the name of James, king of England by grace of God,” Walter said.

The men listened gravely to Hugh's translation. One of them began to speak. For a moment Walter could not hear Hugh beside him or anything else, fascinated by the sight of the man's mouth moving in his breast. The two eyes in the shoulders blinked.

He forced himself to pay attention. “They greet you and ask you why you've come,” Hugh said.

“Tell them we've come to find the city of gold.”

To look at Walter the Ewaipanoma had to turn his entire body. He spoke directly to him, as if he understood that Walter was the leader of the company. “They say they've heard of it, but have never seen it,” Hugh said. “They think it's to the east.”

“I thank you very much for this information,” Walter said. He could not keep his eyes away from the space above the man's shoulders, where he expected to see a head and found only a flat covering of skin. He forced himself to look at the man's chest; the eyes were too far apart to take both of them in at once. “Would you care to take your supper with us?”

Behind him he heard one of the men vomit on the ground. The thought of seeing a man eat through his breast had proved too much for him, probably.

“He says he thanks you, but they will not be able to eat with us,” Hugh said. Now Walter saw that some of them carried birds tied to their backs. They were heading back after a hunt, no doubt. He felt disappointed; he would have liked to have learned more about the tribe. Already he was thinking of writing a second part to his book about Guiana; he felt certain it would prove even more popular than the first.

The Ewaipanoma took their leave. The company foraged for food and then stretched out on the ground to sleep. Soon they had all dropped off except Walter. He stared up at the unfamiliar stars, thinking of the mine. They were close indeed, if the Ewaipanoma had heard of the city. Soon he would have all he had worked for: freedom and riches, everything he desired. He watched the fiery stars wheel overhead. Toward dawn he slept.

He woke first and roused his men, and they set off. Though it was still early morning the sun burned fiercely overhead, and midges bit them on every uncovered surface. The pleasant grass gave way to rough outcroppings of granite. A few of the men grumbled as they walked over the rough ground but he barely noticed the discomfort.

Toward noon he saw another company riding toward them. He squinted against the sun, trying to make them out. Spaniards, or more of the Ewaipanoma? The strangers stopped their horses as they approached the company, and he saw the men were Indians, though slightly built. Nay, not men. Women. Amazons.

The women dismounted. One of them spoke. “They ask who it is who rides through their country without leave,” Hugh said.

Walter nearly grinned; he knew all about flattering queens. “By your leave, Your Majesty, we did not know that this was your country. We are looking for—”

The queen had apparently heard enough of Hugh's translation. “Who on this earth does not know about the country of women?” she said. “You must be strangers indeed.”

“Aye, strangers from a very long way off. From across the ocean. I am Sir Walter Raleigh, knight. I served my queen until she died, and now serve James, king of England by grace of God.”

He had hoped to impress her with talk of his queen, but she seemed more puzzled by his speech than anything else. She remained silent for a moment, and he had leisure to observe her and her tribe. They wore the breeches and shirts of men, but they grew their black hair long and braided it behind them. All carried bows nearly as tall as themselves and quivers of arrows. Behind one of the women, mounted on her horse, rode a small child. Some of them wore jewelry fashioned out of green stones and gold, bracelets and pins to tie up their hair. He had heard that they traded with El Dorado, these stones for gold. His eyes moved involuntarily to their breasts.

“Nay, Sir Walter, we do not cut off our breasts,” the queen said. “Why should we do such a thing? That is a story men put out about us—we do not know why.”

He flushed. The women strode closer to him and he backed away, confused. They were too bold, he thought. In all his life only one woman had acted so, as an equal with men, and she had been a queen.

One of his men laughed lewdly. Walter turned quickly. The man took a step toward the woman nearest him, grinning, but before he could reach her all the women around him had set arrows to their bows.