SEVEN

I arrived in Plymouth after nine days and nights on muddy roads in wind and rain. I rode by post horses part of the time, having little in my purse and my own horse having given out. I'd had to borrow two pounds from Countess Diana, leaving a note with a promise to return the money.

Yet nothing of this ordeal mattered. The fleet had not sailed. The ships lay at anchor in the calm waters of Plymouth Bay, flags flying from their masts, decks aswarm with settlers. And as I rode up the cobbled street I saw Anthony Foxcroft standing at the door of the White Lamb Tavern in conversation with a group of men.

Not an hour had passed since the day I left home that I hadn't worried about him. Had he changed his mind and gone off to hide himself in France? Had he met with some horrible accident? Had Robert Carr set guards on his trail and arrested him? But, miracle of miracles, there he stood in a sky-blue doublet and a feathered cap, his long hair shining in the bright sun.

I rode past him up the cobbled street and gave over my hired horse to the post rider who had accompanied me the last leg of the journey. In my heavy cloak, with my fur hood pulled down, I walked back to the tavern, thinking to slip inside unnoticed—my boots were muddy, my clothes travel-stained, and I hadn't touched water in days—but while his listeners waited for him to go on with something he was saying, Anthony stopped and called out to me.

"You took your time, Serena, dear. I looked for you days ago."

My cheeks flamed. I was embarrassed by his greeting but not astounded. He certainly knew that wherever he went, be it France or Ireland or the Low Countries, I would follow him. Since that far day, the very day I had fallen in love with him, when had he ever doubted his power over me?

"The nag you just rode down the street," he went on, "is fit only for crows. You must have hired a stable full of crow baits, for they took most of a fortnight to get you here. Another day and you'd have been too late. The fleet sails in the morning early."

I said nothing in reply. I turned away and left him in the street, paid for a room in the tavern with the last of my money, ordered two tubs of hot water and a maid to scrub me, fell asleep in the second tub, and was awakened at nightfall by word that a gentleman from one of the ships bound for Jamestown wished to see me.

A tall, stooped, very thin young man with yellow ish skin and fiery eyes was waiting in the common room, pacing up and down, his bony hands behind his back. He gave me a sharp look as I came down the stairs. Something about me—my smile, the pink satin slippers, the red ribbons in my hair—caused him to purse his lips. He continued his pacing until I boldly introduced myself, suspecting that he was the gentleman who wished to talk to me.

He bowed stiffly and said that he was Richard Bucke, clergyman on the ship Sea Venture. "I understand from Anthony Foxcroft that you wish to join us on our voyage to the New World."

"This is my intention."

"'Tis noble of you, yes, noble, but I wonder if you have given thought to the hardships you'll encounter on shipboard and in the New World?"

He spoke slowly, in a reverent voice, but eyed me suspiciously the while, still wondering, as far as I could tell, if I might turn out to be a hindrance rather than a help.

"Have you had, by chance, experience on a farm, with animals, crops, and such?"

"Oh, yes," I said, determined that the Sea Venture would never, never sail without me. "Foxcroft, where I come from, is a vast estate. I was born at Foxcroft. I grew up among horses and cows."

The Reverend Bucke looked at my hands, the ring on my finger. He pursed his lips again. He was about to say that there was no room for me on the Sea Venture.

I took off the ring. "If you'll look inside the band," I said, "you'll find the king's crest. He gave me the ring."

"King James!" the Reverend Bucke exclaimed.

I nodded.

"Why, pray tell?"

"He admires my writing. He has asked me to come to London to write letters for the queen. But I came here, instead, to talk to you."

The Reverend Bucke smiled. He gave back the ring. Certainly, by some kingly magic, it had changed his mind about me.

"I'll need to write letters whilst in Jamestown," he said. "Perhaps you can be of help. I write a hand scarcely to be read by anyone, even myself."

"And also, sir, I can help you write down your sermons. You will give many, I am sure."

"Two every day will be the order of things. But I do not write sermons down. They fly to my tongue like birds."

From his slashed brown doublet he fished a long listing, and I put my name to a contract.

"Sea Venture sails before noon tomorrow," he said. "Be on the quay at dawn. Bring only necessities—only what you can comfortably carry. We'll have one hundred and forty-nine aboard, one hundred and fifty counting you. Space is limited."

Space was more than limited. Soon after dawn I was taken aboard the Sea Venture, to the afterdeck and down a few narrow steps into a dungeon where the roof was so low I had to stoop. I was given a space that measured no more than a stride in width and two strides in length. Not a bed or a bunk, mind you, but a sleeping place on the bare floor.

There was no one in the dungeon. Everyone was on deck in the fresh air—everyone save Anthony Foxcroft. For a few awful, tormenting hours he was nowhere to be seen. I'd have paced the deck if that were possible, but we were standing shoulder to shoulder in a place no larger than a pigpen. Somebody's beard was scraping my cheek.

Noon came. He was not in sight. Could the king's guards have captured him? I thought of going ashore, swimming ashore if need be. Then, as trumpets sounded from each of the seven ships and echoed across the bay, he appeared on the quay.

Taking his time, he sauntered down the steps, his black, wide-brimmed hat cocked on the side of his head, got into a waiting longboat, and was rowed to the ship. He came up the ladder, calling my name. He called thrice in a ringing voice. I did not answer.

"Where are you?" he shouted, alarmed, elbowing his way along the crowded deck.

I took off my hat and waved. He raised his sword and waved back. I heard him say, "You have no idea what you're..." He said more that I couldn't hear. Chains rattled, sails flapped, people shouted.

There were no waves in Plymouth Harbor, but the ship rocked anyway, gently up and down, back and forth. My stomach began to rock, too. I felt myself grow pale. For a fleeting moment I thought of London and King James, of the life I might have led.

Anthony grasped my arm. He led me to the rail and told me to breathe out when the ship rose up and to breathe in when the ship sank down. In this way, he said, I would feel as though the ship weren't moving at all.

I did as I was told and felt somewhat better. At last I saw White Lamb Tavern, the cobbled streets, the tumbled, slant-roofed houses, slowly disappear. And behind us six other ships followed along in a line, like six fat ducks on a pond. Farther back, trailing along like goslings, were two little boats, pinnaces, with fluttering sails.

The sun was bright on the water—too bright—and the Reverend Bucke was halfway up a mast, giving the first of his many sermons in a powerful voice. My head spun and my stomach took a twisting turn.