The Grove of Eagles Read online

  Farther up the Fal on the left bank, near the ferry across the river, was Tolverne, in which lived cousins of ours, a branch of the Arundell family. Jonathan, the elder boy, was in his twenties, but Thomas and Elizabeth were of our age. Sir Anthony Arundell of Tolverne, the father, had become an eccentric of late, living a recluse’s life, often not rising from his bed until five in the afternoon, sometimes not retiring until daybreak. My father said the woods had got him.

  One day in early May we children were invited to spend the day there, so we sailed up the river in the company of Rose and another servant. Tolverne was a much smaller house than ours, but it was convenient of scope and less sprawling and would have been pleasant had it not been so dark and close. In front of the main windows was a shallow lawn, but surrounding that were the trees, crowding close, with a path cut through them to the river. Many of the trees near the house were conifers and even in the winter kept the light away. To me, brought up on the airy promontory of Arwenack, the house was always secretive and strange.

  We found there today besides the three young Arundells, Gertrude and Hoblyn Carew, the children of Richard Carew of Antony near Plymouth, Gertrude being in her middle teens and Hoblyn two years younger; and also Sue Farnaby from Treworgan near Truro, a slim girl of about fourteen with a piquant tilted face and black hair; and Jack Arundell of Trerice, who at 15 had been head of the Arundell Trerices ever since his father died when he was an infant.

  Jonathan Arundell of Tolverne, though 25, seemed to find as much pleasure in the afternoon as any of us, especially when it put him in the company of Gertrude Carew. Soon we began a game called ‘ Who’s From Home?’ which ranged over the widest area of the garden and grounds, and to my slight alarm I found myself paired with Sue Farnaby. I had never been alone with a girl of my own age in quite this way before, for the essence of the game was that it should be stealthy and secretive, and that led to whispering close to ears and giggling and an air of conspiracy which put you on a familiar footing right off.

  Sue had the advantage of having played this game at Tolverne before, so she knew all the best hiding places and all the paths through the woods. Soon we had lost the others and were on a narrow path by the river from which we could see our own little boat with Rose sitting fishing from it, a row-boat crossing at the ferry and a hoy of thirty or forty tons struggling down the river against the breeze.

  “It’s best to sit here for a while,” she said. “ The others will seek each other by the house. After we have given them time to scatter we can creep back and be first home.”

  She settled on an outcrop of rock and smoothed the thin scarf tied over her ears. “My father is a farmer and merchant. We do not own Treworgan, we rent it from your father. My mother knew your mother in Devon.”

  “My mother?” I said, and then realised she meant Mrs Killigrew.

  “Yes. They grew up near each other.”

  “That is my stepmother. My own mother is dead.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry … My mother almost died when I was born; that’s why I’m an only child.”

  “Are you lonely at home?”

  She turned and gave me a wide glinting beautiful smile. “ No … I have so many friends.”

  The smile made her a new one for life. She shaded her eyes with her hand. “Do you know Sir Anthony Arundell? Isn’t that him coming across the ferry?”

  There were two men in the boat. “The front one in the crimson cloak? Yes, you cannot mistake his white hair.”

  Sue Farnaby said: “ I have been friendly with Elizabeth Arundell for years. I come here often, and sometimes she comes to us, though our house is humble to hers. Why were you called Maugan? Is it Welsh?”

  I laughed. “I don’t think so. Not this way of spelling it. There was a St Maugan, wasn’t there, who founded a church near Padstow? I have never thought about it. Why were you called Susan?”

  “Susanna,” she said, “after my grandmother.”

  I laughed again. There was nothing in the conversation, but at the time it seemed light and witty and suddenly joyous. We chatted on until she got up and gave me a hand. “We should be going: they’ll have tired of waiting by now.”

  Giggling together, we began to creep back by another path towards the house. I wished I could wander through these woods all afternoon linked to this slim, pale, black-haired creature who led me on by one hand, while the other gathered her skirts together at the front so that they should not be caught by brambles. When she laughed her teeth gleamed like sudden sunshine; her skin was strangely fine; her eyes had twenty expressions from the darkest gravity to grey-green laughter. For me at that moment she was all mystery and enchantment: she was the first woman.

  We found ourselves within sight of the house; and there ahead of us crouching behind a bush was Belemus with little Odelia Killigrew who had drawn him as her partner. I had no wish to speak to them, but Sue Farnaby said we must, so in three minutes we had ‘ captured’ them and were concerting together how we might get back to our winning point on the other side of the house without being seen.

  Sue said we could go through the house: there was an arched door ahead of us in a stone wall and beyond it steps to another narrower door which was open. We found ourselves in a dark room which had a strange look about it, there being ornaments and small pictures and a smell of burnt herbs. Before we could go on Sir Anthony came in followed by the man who had been with him in the rowing boat.

  Sue said: “I beg your pardon, sir, we were playing a game and had lost our way.”

  Sir Anthony had a flat plump face which my father said had once been handsome. The flesh was no longer healthy; it was as if some subtle corrosion of stress had touched it. He waved a dismissive hand, but the man with him said:

  “These are your children, sir?”

  He was a stout man, his stoutness being in all ways different from Sir Anthony’s, as a taut strong rope is different from a frayed slack one.

  “No … Friends of my children. This is Susanna Farnaby of Treworgan. This is Maugan and Odelia Killigrew, and Belemus Roscarrock, who also lives at Arwenack.”

  “Roscarrock,” said the man. “That is a famous Catholic name.”

  “My father is a Catholic,” said Belemus.

  We were about to move off when Lady Arundell came in. Sir Anthony said; “Oh, Anne, this is Mr Humphry Petersen, I don’t think you will have met him before. Though you’ll have heard our cousins speak of him.”

  “You come from Chideock?” Lady Arundell said coldly.

  “Not directly, my lady, though I know it. I have been abroad for some months.”

  “You have news of war, then?”

  “Nothing that makes good hearing. The English have suffered a heavy defeat in Brittany.”

  “Ah?” said Sir Anthony. “I hadn’t heard it.”

  “Well, sir, it’s serious enough to prejudice English hopes in France for a long time. We laid siege to Craon—1,000 English, some 600 Germans and some loyal French troops under the Prince of Dombe and the Prince of Condy. A large force of Spanish and League forces launched a surprise attack and cut us to pieces. The loyal French suffered much less but fled and found refuge in neighbouring towns, but we had no place of refuge, sir, and were hardly an army at all by dawn of the next day.”

  Lady Arundell said: “Susanna, in the orchard under the vine bower you will find my lawn cap. Fetch it for me, will you?”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  “Did I hear say you were a Killigrew, boy?” Mr Petersen said to me as I was going past him.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The Killigrews of Arwenack, hard by the mouth of the Fal,” said Sir Anthony Arundell. “ John Killigrew has a numerous brood.”

  “Yes, I know of him well. He governs Pendennis Castle. And are you the eldest boy?”

  “Yes, sir, leastwise …”

  “Leastwise?”

  “Maugan is a pack-saddle boy,” said Sir Anthony, peering at me as if I were not there. “ John is
his eldest, who’s twelve or so; you’ll see him in the garden. Thomas is a year younger, and Odelia, here, a year younger still.”

  Just then Jack Arundell of Trerice and Thomas Arundell came in to see what had become of us, so we went off with them and rejoined the others. We lay for a time in the grass talking and laughing and planning what we should play next.

  Suddenly Odelia dropped a little stone into her lap and said: “What is recusancy? I have not heard of it before.”

  “Recusancy?” said Thomas. “Who used the word?”

  “It was your visitor, Thomas, I did not mean it had been spoken out here. Is it some wrong word?”

  “There is nothing wrong with the word,” said Jack Arundell of Trerice brusquely. “It is what it stands for that’s dislikable. Recusancy is being a Catholic and refusing to change, refusing to come to church, refusing to be a Protestant of the English Church.”

  “Are you a recusancy, Belemus?” Odelia asked.

  “Recusant,” said Belemus, sucking a piece of grass. “My father is.”

  “Mean to say he would fight for the Spaniards?” Hoblyn Carew asked.

  “Of course,” said Belemus. “ I’m a Spaniard in disguise. Did you not know?”

  Sarcasm was too much for some of the younger ones and they wriggled uncomfortably.

  “They say there are spies and traitors everywhere,” said Hoblyn. “They say that if the Spaniards landed there would be traitors in every town. And they say another Armada is coming.”

  You could hear the east wind stirring the top of the trees. Odelia picked up two stones and threw them into the air, trying to pick up the one in her lap before catching the two as they came down.

  “And what,” she said, “is a pack-saddle boy?”

  Two of the older ones laughed, and I thought Sue Farnaby was one of them. Belemus said: “When you are born the midwife puts you on a horse, and if you take a toss you are known as—”

  Thomas interrupted: “ Being a pack-saddle boy means you are a bastard.”

  Thomas was the second of the Tolverne children; nine or ten years younger than his brother, but still older and bigger than I. The other two were gentle and rather frail and without guile, but he was a thruster, with tight curled hair, a white bland face like his father’s but without the sensitivity, a pampered body.

  I said: “ You are quite a know-all, aren’t you?”

  “Well it’s the truth. It may taste poor, but then the truth often does. It’s a pill that has to be swallowed.”

  “Other things too may have to be swallowed. Like this mud, for instance.”

  “It means,” he said, “that your mother like as not was a Sight woman and that, for certain, you have no name. You bear the name of Killigrew for a kindness only. I doubt if you was ever baptised.”

  He got up as I went for him, but I had the strength of anger. I put him down twice and broke two of his front teeth. Odelia and Elizabeth were screaming and soon the elders rushed out and there was much to do, with no one taking my side except Sue Farnaby and Jack Arundell of Trerice, and the elders were too angry to listen to either of them.

  The party did not last long after that. Making the most of a need to catch the falling tide, we left in a subdued silence. I thought I would never be invited there again and probably would never see Susanna Farnaby again or be permitted to roam through the woods with her, with the sun shining and the trees budding and the river birds crying and a light breeze rustling the grasses. I felt as if I had destroyed some part of my youth.

  In spite of the ebbing tide the head breeze was so fresh as we came out into Carrick Road that Rose and the other servant had to lower the sail and take to the oars. I only spoke once and that was to Belemus as we neared our landing jetty.

  “I don’t understand it. Would you not have fought him if he had said as much to you? Then why did he say it? What had I done to offend him?”

  Belemus smiled his cavernous old-man’s smile.

  “Witless, don’t you know you had spent all the afternoon enamouring with the little girl he most fancies for himself?”

  Rose was the bearer of an angry note written by Lady Arundell to my father complaining that I had attacked her son as if I were out of Bedlam and had done his looks permanent harm and perhaps his very health; she trusted I should be suitably dealt with.

  I was. My father was out, but my grandmother ordered me to be well thrashed, not by Parson Merther, who had no muscle, but by Carminow the gunner, who knew how to draw blood. And then I was confined to my room for three days on bread and water.

  The pain and the hunger were things quite light beside the sense of humiliation. Something budding for the first time in my heart had been burned away. I went over the scenes of the afternoon a hundred times, and all the pleasure of the first hours was poisoned by the disgrace of the last.

  On the second day of the confinement came a new and unexpected frustration: we woke that morning, which was a Thursday, to find ten ships of war anchored in the roads.

  The fleet was under the personal command of Walter Ralegh, with Sir John Burrough as second-in-command, and was being sent out to attack the Isthmus of Panama and to try to capture the treasure ships of the Plate. That night my father was to banquet Ralegh and Burrough and a picked company of officers and gentlemen. They were sailing on the morrow.

  All I could see from my window was the passing to and fro of small boats ferrying people aboard and ashore. I paced up and down most of the time, biting the skin round my fingers, and when Rose brought me bread and water at five I kicked it over and ground the bread into the floorboards. When John and the others came to bed at eight he said the guests were still at table, so I pulled a shirt on and a pair of slops and went to see.

  I stole across to a bedroom which was my uncle Simon Killigrew’s when he was home and stared out across the river mouth. It was a moonless night but starlit, and I could see the lights of the vessels and pick out their shapes. I wished I was going with them, to glory or to death. If I had no name I must make one.

  I took a devious way towards the great hall, avoiding contact with the servants. I had seen Sir Walter Ralegh twice before and could guess which was Sir John Burrough; but I could not make out the others, though I knew one was a Grenville and another a Crosse and a third called Thynne, all west-country men.

  Supper was near its end, and for this meal no servants had dined but only the twenty guests and their hosts. Ralegh seemed to take little part in the conversation, his face sombre and as if his mind were elsewhere. I was surprised that he looked so sour and pre-occupied, with this splendid new venture just opening for him. Sir John Burrow looked a kinder, more tolerant man, and I wondered if I could run after him when he left tonight and ask to be taken. I thought of Grenville last year who had fought the whole Spanish fleet for fifteen hours alone, withstanding eight hundred rounds of shot before being overwhelmed. Ralegh was his cousin.

  I wondered what it must be like to be the Queen’s favourite, perhaps the most powerful man in all England; and now leading a fleet against the enemy. I wished fervently that I might grow up. I felt that all opportunity was passing while I was still too young to play any part.

  The following evening when they had all gone I went down into the big parlour to see my father and to receive from him what final admonition he deemed necessary before the incident was closed. To my surprise he seemed now to think lightly of it all.

  “The Arundells were always touchy as to their looks—not that they ever had none anyway. But you’ll have a grief of a life if you fight everyone who calls you bastard, my boy.”

  “No, father, it was not so much that; it was what he said—”

  “Never forget that there have been others such as yourself who have left their mark. William the Conqueror was one, and people tumble over their own heels to claim him as their ancestor.”

  I watched my grandmother, who was adding some accounts. It was due to her, though I did not realise it until years later, that
there was little risk of my having to seek for my mother among the servants. It was a rule she had enforced with an iron hand even in her husband’s time. What her menfolk did outside the house was very much their own affair—but they did not, in peril almost of their lives, embroil themselves with the servants.

  “Remember one word,” my father said, yawning and stretching his legs across a footstool. “Success. If you are a good success in your life people will forgive you far worse things than a little matter of your mother’s wedding. You may do murder, you may betray your country, you may savage women, you may steal from orphans, you may have pillaged and perjured and burned—only let the outcome be success and the world will fawn on you.”

  “Yes, father.”

  “But don’t consume your substance in your country’s service, or you’ll be brought near to beggary. To hold office in our age is to hold your purse over a hungry mouth that takes all and gives nothing in return. Even your great-uncles Henry and William who are as close to the Queen as a pair of father confessors—in and out of her bedchamber, running secret errands for her—even your uncles admit themselves to be deeper in debt with each year that passes. At least, one has a knighthood for it, which is more than I, though I am head of the family and my father was knighted and his father before him, and they living in less troublous times than this. By rights I should have had it ten years ago.”

  “Leave the boy be, John,” said my grandmother, coughing harshly. “Leave him to learn his own lessons.”

  My father drank deep from his mug. “ We all learn, but some of us leave it a trifle late. If I had the last twenty years over again I should do one thing or the other: till my own soil and never budge from it and become a wealthy vegetable, like the Boscawens over across the river; or live all my life at court and reap the benefits the way Ralegh has done. Half and half gives you the sour edge of both worlds…”

  “The best way to teach the boy,” said Lady Killigrew, “ is not by book or precept but by sending him into the world to taste it for himself. The confines of Arwenack are too restrictive for him.”