the idle gossip. Luke Hutton, the highwayman, had been hung by his neck in York,
some months past, but there was still talk as to who he actually was. He had
been a scholar at Cambridge, and some even said he was a son of the Archbishop
of York.
There was talk of recruiting for the wars in Ireland, and of the fighting there.
But Essex had not yet gone over, waiting, it was said, for provisions.
Meanwhile, talking with diverse persons, I bargained for items I would take to
the New World. Beads of glass and sharp knives, needles, bolts of highly colored
cloth. I wished not to be heavily loaded, to have only what was necessary. I
talked with men who knew about sailing westward, and there were a few who had
traded across the Atlantic for many years.
One was a man from Bristol who scoffed at the “discovery” of the New World. “Our
people have been fishing off the Banks for many years. We often landed on New
Found Land, or the mainland shores, to dry fish or smoke them. But it was a
harsh and savage land and who cared about it? We saw no gold. We saw only rocky
coasts or long sandy shores with forest behind them.”
It was exciting to listen to such men, and to hear the news. A witch named Doll
Barthram had been hanged in Suffolk. We had heard talk of her even back in the
fens.
Twice there were meetings with Captain Tempany. He listened to my list of
purchases, added a suggestion or two, then commented, “We’ve little time.
There’s a ship’s captain newly come to Plymouth who says the King of Spain will
soon send a great fleet against us. We must be well out to sea before they come,
or we’ll be taken.”
“Is your ship not armed?”
“Armed? Aye, she’s armed, but what can six guns do against a fleet? No, no. I
would prefer to slip down the river in the dark. There’s nought to be gained by
fighting, for even if we ‘scaped we’d likely take a shot through the rigging or
hull. Stand by now, for word will come quickly and move we shall, on the
instant.”
Tempany hesitated, rubbing his jaw. “There’s another thing. You’ve heard of Nick
Bardle?”
“A hard man, they say.”
“Aye. A thief and a pirate, and whatever is evil and wrong. Well, he’s moored
close by my ship and I like none of it. He’s a man will bear watching. Mind you,
he’d think twice before troubling me, unless he could steal a bit of my cargo
and make a run for it.”
He drummed on the table with his fingers. “Know you aught of America?”
“I’ve read Hakluyt, and I’ve heard talk.”
“You know more than most. The Spanish have settled in what they call Floridy.
There were some French, but I think they’ve been driven out or killed by the
Spanish. Raleigh settled some colonists with a man named Lane to head them, but
they came back, first chance. Grenville left fifteen men … all vanished.
Killed by Indians or Spaniards, no doubt.”
“Or picked up and gone elsewhere.”
“The Indians … well, you must be wary of them, lad. Today they will trade, and
tomorrow if the notion takes them, they attack. If one gives you his word, it
counts for something. But he speaks only for his own people.
“They’ve no sense of property. Not as we have. In a village each man uses what
he needs. When they see something they want, they take it and go.
“Above all, go with no notions about gold. The Spanish found it in Mexico, but
the French have not found it anywhere. The gold is to be had in the trading for
furs, skins, freshwater pearls, fish and potash. Some of their hardwoods burn
with a fine white ash, and there’s a need for potash.”
“What should I deal in?”
“Furs. You’ve only a little stake, so trade with care. Only furs, and only the
best. Take second-grade furs and that’s all you will ever get. The Indians are
not fools. They’ve lived by barter all their lives, and they know what they
want.”
“A handful of beads for a fox-skin does not seem a very good trade for them.”
“Ah, lad! He has plenty of fox-skins, but he has no beads such as ours. The
scarcer the article the greater the value. You pay for what you want; so does
the Indian.
“Good knives, they have need of them. They’ll try for muskets, too, but do not
be trading them. Arm them as well as us and they would soon have everything.”
“They’d rob us?”
“Of course, and so would a Dunkirker. Trust no ship at sea, lad. Given a chance
there’s few of them will not turn pirate … or privateer, or whatever you wish
to call them.”
He motioned for a refill of our tankards. “We shall sail south, almost to the
land of the Spanish men, then north along the coast, trading wherever possible.
After that, to some islands off the north coast where fishermen have summer
villages to dry and smoke their fish. There we’ll refit and buy stores.”
Tempany hoisted his glass, looking from under bushy gray brows at me. “Lad, have
you thought there’s more to Genester’s hatred of you than what happened in
Stamford?”
“Why should there be? We never met before.”
“Agreed. Nor had he seen you or known of you, but think you now: once his anger
was gone, would he have bothered unless there was something more?”
“Impossible, Captain. He has wealth, position, all a man could ask. I have
nothing but a will to do.”
“Suppose you were a threat to his keeping what he has? Or gaining more?”
“There is no way, Captain. To him I was just an oaf, a country bumpkin whom he
believed to be making overtures to his lady.”
“Until his anger led him to discover who you were.”
“I am Barnabas Sackett, no more. I am a man of the fens, who, because his father
was a skilled fighting man, holds a bit of land.”
“And to whose father a promise was made.”
“Oh? That! Captain, if indeed such a word was passed, it meant only that he
might see me in some post where I could have a living.”
“I agree that was the intention, lad, but things have happened. This man … he
will disclose his name when he sees fit … lost a son when the Armada attacked.
He lost a son in the plague. Suddenly he is no longer young, and finds as his
only heir a man, a nephew whom he profoundly dislikes.”
“Genester?”
“Aye.” Tempany took a swallow of the ale and touched his beard with the back of
his hand. “A night came when he was sitting about talking of antiquities, and
one of the old friends shows two gold coins and tells their tale.
“Suddenly, the elderly gentleman of whom I speak is hearing again the name of
that stalwart who stood above him and fought off the attackers until help came.
“He recalls the stern, honest quality of that man, and now he hears of that
man’s son. A promise is recalled, and Hasling comments on your enterprise in
coming to him, your knowledge of antiquities … which he probably overrated …
and your difficulties with Genester.”
“Still, I do not—”
Tempany lifted a hand. “Wait. Hasling had his story to tell, and then I told
mine, of the affair at the Globe and returning to find you at my home.
“The gentleman of whom I speak decided the fates were guiding him to a decision.
He enjoyed the way you escaped so handily. It indicated presence of mind, and
your dumping of Genester on your first meeting brought him to chuckling and
wishing he could have seen it.”
“I had a good friend who impeded pursuit. Do not forget that, Captain. But for
Corvino—”
“Having such friends is a credit to you. I do not jest, lad. He wishes to meet
you.”
“It would be a pleasure, Captain.”
“Aye, but somehow Genester has discovered that. Perhaps from one of the
servants. I do not know. Genester’s hopes center around the old man. He himself
has little, so if the old man should choose to leave his estates to you—”
“That is impossible, Captain.”
“No, not at all. It presents the solution to a problem. He respected your
father, and you have shown yourself to be a young man of wit, intelligence and
decision, something he was himself, and which he admires. So, before you go
further with this trading venture, talk to him.”
“I shall, of course, but I would choose to make my own way, Captain. How many of
the titled gentlemen around the Queen have done as much? Raleigh, perhaps.”
“As you will, but meet with him, at least. I shall see him soon. In the