Page 26 of Dawnlands

“Of course, I cannot say! But you speak to Alys and to Captain Shore and tell them we may need two cabins, perhaps at once, perhaps in some weeks’ time, and I will send to you if I need you.”

“I may tell them why?”

“As much as you think safe. As little as you can.”

“Won’t the king provide for her safety? What about the navy?”

She shrugged. “Oh, perhaps! But if he is away fighting with his army? And who should provide for me if not my own boy?” She rose from the table and pulled down her veil from her hat, so her face was hidden.

“Your husband?” he suggested weakly. “Shouldn’t he…”

She laughed. “He doesn’t have a ship and—allora!—you do!”

Her maid, who had been standing behind her, came forward and offered her arm. Livia turned to Matthew who stood, quite stunned, before her.

“I shall come again in a few days,” she promised, as if he had asked for her. “We shall meet here.”

He made a little bow. “As you wish, your ladyship,” he said.

She gave him her gloved hand to kiss. He put his lips to the warm silk.

“You may call me Lady Mother,” she told him. “Signora Madre.”

TEXEL ISLAND, HOLLAND, SPRING 1685

TheHelderenbergrocked in the strong onshore wind, with two smaller ships moored nearby, loaded with weapons, armor, and uniforms for officers who were waiting in England, banners for the crowds, a printing press to publish the duke’s manifesto, a printer to set the type, barrels of the rusty brown water of the island, famous for good-keeping on long voyages, barrels of wine, small ale, crates of fresh food, and two brace of hens to lay eggs for the duke’s breakfast.

Eighty-three men were mustered to sail in the invasion, some dismissed from William of Orange’s army to follow the beloved duke, exiles from King James’s England, his lordship’s own servants who would die for him, and only one other nobleman: Lord Grey of Werke, who had been set on overturning the monarchy for all his life.

“But never heard a shot fired in anger,” Ned said quietly to Samuel Venner, a veteran who had served under Monmouth against the French in the Dutch War.

“He’s gentry,” Venner replied. “So he can ride a horse, can’t he? Cavalry officer? They don’t have to do more than gallop in the right direction. And he’ll bring out all of Sussex for us.”

“Are we landing in Sussex?” Ned asked.

“I don’t know where,” Venner said. “And I don’t care where, just as long as the wind changes and we can get out of port.”

“A papist wind,” Ned said sourly.

Every day the danger increased that King James’s urgent demands to his son-in-law William of Orange would stir the Dutch authorities into arresting the rebels and impounding the three ships. Every day that they bobbed at the quayside increased their visibility.

“Surely they’ll turn a blind eye to us,” Venner suggested. “We’ve had nothing but goodwill from the people of Amsterdam. They’re praying for our success in the chapels. They’ve fought papists for years.”

Rowan appeared at his side, so soft-footed that Venner started and cursed her. She said nothing but touched Ned on the sleeve and pointed down to the twilit quay beside them. He could just make out two figures, city fathers by their rich clothes, broad beamed as barges, waddling towards them, papers in hand.

“Trouble?” she whispered.

Ned went without a word to the bridge, found the young recruit William Hewling on anchor watch, and ordered the gangplank to be drawn in and the duke and his officers informed.

“They’re onshore, dining,” Hewling said, looking anxiously over the side of the ship at the approaching officials. “I don’t even know which inn.”

Ned turned to Rowan. “Go and find the duke,” he whispered. “Make sure you’re not seen. Tell him not to come back to the ship until we know who these men are. Tell him he might have to get away.” He caught her hand as she turned for the gangplank. “Not that way, they’ll see you. Can you get down the mooring rope?”

She nodded and disappeared before his eyes. It was as if she had melted into air. One moment he held her warm hand and saw her confident smile under the shadow of her hat, and the next there were just shadows, not even the outline of her shadow, not even the whisper of her cape. He looked aft where the rocking ship was pulling the line taut and saw her for just a moment, silhouetted against the gray horizon as she slung a leg over the rail, then she was gone. The men holloing from the quayside had their backs to her as she wormed down the rope, going hand over hand with her legs wrapped around it, and jumped soundlessly onto the shore. She dropped into a low crouch and froze as Ned leaned over the side doffing his hat. “Good evening,Mijn Heren,” he bellowed.

On the bridge behind him he heard the quiet click of Venner arming a musket. William Hewling behind him was white as a sail.

One of the men looked up. “Are you captain of this vessel?” he demanded.