Philippa Carr - Lion Triumphant

I must try to forget England. I was married to a Spaniard; my son was half Spanish.

If I could but hear that my mother was safe and well and that she knew that I was, I suppose I could in time become reconciled and I wondered often what had become of John Gregory.

Soon the ship must come and we would leave this house in which I had experienced so many emotions. I would try to start afresh when I left it—as I must.

I talked a great deal to Honey of the future. She had adjusted herself more easily than I. She was less tempestuous—or perhaps she was more successful in disguising her feelings. Just as she had appeared to be completely happy with Edward now she seemed so with Luis.

Her attitude was that we must accept life and do our best to be happy in it.

Our parting would be a bitter blow to us both, but we must accept it. We must think of our reunion which both Felipe and Luis had promised us should come in time.

My fears were almost lulled to rest when on that never-to-be-forgotten night there came the knocking on the door.

The candles had been lighted. We sat in that gracious room—myself and Felipe, Honey and Luis. Honey was playing the lute; and how beautiful she looked with her graceful head bent a little and her eyes downcast so that her thick lashes made a dark shadow against her skin—Honey of the indestructible beauty which no hardship could impair.

She was singing a Spanish song. We did not sing the English ones, only when we were out together in the open where none could hear.

Then we heard the sound from without.

We started up. Felipe came swiftly to my side. He put his arm around me. He wanted me to go up to our bedroom so that he could hide me there.

But already we could hear the voices and knocking on the door in the portico. Someone screamed and then there were the sounds of footsteps.

The door of the salon was flung open. I saw John Gregory and a great joy swept over me.

“He comes from England,” I cried.

And then I saw the man I had pictured so many times, his eyes flashing blue fire and there was mockery and murder in them. Jake Pennlyon had come to the Hacienda.

He was looking at me and he laughed triumphantly when he saw me. “I’ve come for you,” he cried. “Which is the fellow who took my woman?”

He was terrifying, magnificent and invincible. How many times, when I had first been brought to Tenerife, had I imagined his coming just like this.

He had turned to Felipe. Some instinct seemed to tell him that he was the one. Then I saw Felipe throw up his arms and fall to the floor.

“Oh, God,” I cried, for Jake’s sword was dripping with blood. I felt sick with horror. Jake had seized me.

“Did you doubt I’d come?” he cried. “God’s Death, it’s been a long time.”

How difficult it is to remember the details of that bewildering and horrifying night. My thoughts were dominated by one terrible truth. Felipe was dead and Jake had killed him.

When I shut my eyes I can see the salon—the bloodstained tapestry, the bodies of men, bloody and inert lying on the mosaic tiles. Honey’s husband was among them; he lay close to Felipe. I was aware of Jake’s men stripping the walls and I realized they were taking away all objects of value.

As I stood there staring down at the body of Felipe whom I knew now I had deeply loved, I thought of the children and ran out to the stairs which led to the nursery. Jake Pennlyon was beside me. It was so long since I had seen him, I had forgotten the power of the man.

He said: “Where go we then? To our bed? Why, girl, you’ll have to wait for that. We’ve work to do this night. We’ve got what we came for, but there’s no need to go back emptyhanded.”

“There are children,” I said.

“What?”

“My son.”

“Your son?”

“Yours too,” I answered.

I tried to escape from him, but he gripped me firmly. We went up to the stairs. The children were awake. Roberto ran to me and I caught him in my arms.

“Your son … this black brat,” cried Jake Pennlyon.

“It is all right, Roberto,” I soothed. “No harm shall come to you, my son.”

Jake Pennlyon’s blue eyes blazed with fury. “So you were got with child by a poxy Don. I’ll have no Spanish vermin on my ship.”

I held the child firmly in my arms.

Carlos and Jacko had come up. Carlos stared at Jake Pennlyon with frank curiosity.

“And these?”

“Yours,” I said. “Your sons, Jake Pennlyon—one got on a Spanish lady and the other on a serving wench.”

He stared down at the boys. Then he put out a hand and let it rest on the shoulder of Carlos. “God’s Death!” he said. Then he took Carlos’ chin and jerked his face up. Then he did the same to Jacko. They met his gaze fearlessly. Jake Pennlyon burst into great laughter. Carlos, uncertain, laughed too. Jake took a handful of Carlos’s hair and pulled it. There was a certain emotion in his face.

He released Carlos and slapped him on the back. The boy staggered but was looking eager and expectant still. Jacko had stepped a little forward, not wishing to be left out.

“Why,” said Jake, “I’d have known you two anywhere.”

Then he looked at me, his eyes narrowed. “These boys should have been yours and you got with child by a poxy Don!” He looked down at the boys. “Get warm clothes on,” he roared. “Bring what you can—everything you can lay your hands on. You’re going on the finest ship that ever sailed the seas.”

Honey, weeping quietly, had come in for Edwina. She picked her up and held her in her arms.

“Make ready,” growled Jake Pennlyon, “and follow me.”

We went down the stairs; packhorses were waiting for us. They had been taken from Felipe’s stables. Already articles of value were being loaded onto them. It must have been midnight when we started to ride to the coast.

There was a faint moon to show us the way and the going was slow.

Jake Pennlyon rode beside me and I held Roberto on my mule. Jennet was there, her eyes wide with excitement; Manuela kept close to the children, quietly determined to follow them; Honey, widowed twice and in a like manner, her beautiful face now impassive, held Edwina on her mule. Jacko rode with Jennet and Carlos had a mule to himself.

I felt as though I were living in a nightmare. I could not forget Felipe lying in his blood, he who, a short while before, had been alive and so concerned for my safety, and all that had happened in the last hour seemed quite unreal. I was certain I would wake up soon.

There was Jake Pennlyon—I had forgotten how vital a man could be—the murderer of Felipe, whom I had grown to love.

I should never forget Felipe’s gentle courtesy, his deep and abiding kindness to me. And Jake Pennlyon had killed him. How I hated Jake Pennlyon.

And so we came to the coast and there, a mile or so from the land, lay the Rampant Lion.

We rowed out to her; we scrambled aboard.

The spoils which Jake Pennlyon’s men had taken from the Hacienda were stowed away.

It was beginning to be light when the Rampant Lion shipped anchor and we sailed for England.

THE FAMILIAR CREAKING OF timbers, the rolling and pitching of a ship at sea—it came back to me so vividly. Jake Pennlyon’s cabin was not unlike that of the galleon’s Captain. It was less spacious and the deck head was lower. The same kind of instruments were there. I saw the astrolabe and the cross staff, the compasses and hourglasses.

We were taken to his cabin, Honey, Jennet and I with the children. Edwina clung to her mother as Roberto did to me but Jake Pennlyon’s boys were examining the cabin; they were into everything, trying to understand how the astrolabe worked and chattering in a kind of half English and half Spanish language of their own.

Jennet was smiling to herself. “Wel, fancy, ’twere the Captain himself,” she kept murmuring.

Honey sat limply staring in front of her as though she were in a trance. I knew how she felt. She had lost a husband whom she loved—even as I had. Hundreds of memories must be crowding into her mind as they were into mine.

Felipe, I thought, I loved you. I never let you know how much because I didn’t realize it myself until I saw you lying there.

Then it was back in my mind—that hideous memory. I could see the blood staining his jacket, making a pool about his body. I could see the blood on the walls and Jake Pennlyon’s dripping sword.

I must try to shut that terrible picture out of my mind.

“The children should be sleeping,” I said.

“Oh, Mistress, do you think they could after such a night?” asked Jennet.

“They must,” I replied. I was thankful that at least they had not seen the murders. I wondered what was happening now. How many of the servants had survived, what they would say in the morning. Pilar at the Casa Azul would cry out that it was the witch’s work—the English witch who had fascinated the Governor and brought him to his death.

The door of the cabin opened and John Gregory came in.

“Well,” I said, “here is the double traitor.”

“Did you not want to go home?” he demanded. “Was it not what you hoped and prayed for?”

I was silent. I was thinking of Don Felipe. I could not stop thinking of him.

“You are to be taken to a cabin where you will sleep. I will show you.”

We followed him along an alleyway and into a cabin which was considerably smaller than the one we had left. There were blankets on the deck.

“You may all rest here. Captain Pennlyon will see you later. He will be busy for some hours yet.”

I followed John Gregory into the alleyway.

“I want to know what happened in England,” I said.

“I left in good faith,” he said.

“Did you ever know good faith? Which master did you serve?”

“I serve Captain Pennlyon who is my true master and was ere I was taken by the Spaniards.”

“You betrayed him once.”

“I was taken and submitted to torture. I was made to obey but when I saw once more the green fields of home I knew where my loyalty lay. I never want to leave my country again.”

“You found my mother? You gave her my letter?”

“I gave her your letter.”

“And what said she?”

“I never saw such joy in any face as when I placed your letter in her hands and told her you were well.”

“And then?”

“She said you must be brought home and she bid me take a message to Captain Pennlyon, your betrothed husband, to tell him where you were. She said I must take him to you and that he would bring you safely home.”

“And this you did. You were a traitor to him and to your new master. And now you have returned to the old. How long will you be faithful to him, John Gregory?”

“You are sailing for home, Mistress. Are you not content to do so?”

I said: “There was bloody murder in Trewynd Grange on that night when we were taken away. There was bloody murder at the Hacienda. These murders are at your door, John Gregory.”

“I understand you not. I have expiated my sin.”

“Your conscience must trouble you,” I said. I asked myself: How near had I come to loving Don Felipe? I did love him. Surely this emptiness I now feel, this numbed despair was due to love.

I went back to the cabin. Roberto was looking anxiously for me, so I took him in my arms and soothed him. Edwina was fast asleep. Carlos and Jacko were whispering together.

I said: “We should all lie down. Though I do not expect we shall sleep.”

In a short time Jennet was breathing noisily. I looked at her contemptuously and asked myself of what she dreamed. Of further tumbling with the Captain? How wantonly her eyes had shone at the sight of him.

Honey lay still.

I whispered: “Honey, what are you thinking?”

She answered: “I keep seeing him lying there. A man who has slept at your side … in whose arms you have lain… There was so much blood, Catharine. I can’t forget it. I see it wherever I look.”

“You loved Luis?”

“He was gentle and kind. He was good to me. And you Felipe, Catharine?”

“He took me against my will, but he was never brutal. I think he soon began to love me. Sometimes I think I shall never be loved as I was by Don Felipe.”

“Jake Pennlyon…” she began.

“Do not speak of him.”

“We are in his ship. What will happen do you think?” I shivered. “We must wait and see,” I said.