Page 96 of Dawnlands

“The king must be welcomed one week after the course has ended,” the midwife said. “Other times are less propitious. So it is not too onerous for him.” She did not so much as flicker a smile, and both women were equally grave. “The field has to be ready for the sowing,” she said. “Once a month at the right time is all that it needs. If there is vigor on the one side and willingness and agreement on the other.”

“Is there anything you can do to increase agreement?” Livia asked. “And vigor?”

“I can give you some herbs to brew into a drink to encourage both of Their Majesties,” Mrs. Cellier said. “A hot drink like a wedding ale. To encourage good cheer, and to make the husband eager and the wife fertile.”

“Lady Avery will take the herbs,” the young queen said, her head turned away and her cheeks burning red with shame. The midwife bowed and Livia guided her to the doorway, where she handed over a purse of herbs.

“There’d better be nothing in this that is dangerous,” Livia warned her bluntly. “If she gets ill, then I will be in terrible trouble, but you’re a dead woman.”

“Nothing but thyme to boil in sweet wine. She should take honey and pepper every day, and she should eat hare and venison, male meat, the pizzle and the parts. Can you order that for her?”

“Of course I can,” Livia said. “She’s the Queen of England. I can get almost anything in the world but a son in the cradle!”

BRISTOL, AUTUMN 1685

They loaded the prisoners at dusk, to take advantage of the empty quayside. Everyone who could shelter from the gray driving sleet had left the wet cobbles of the quay and the heaving murky water where theRebeccapulled at the mooring ropes. She was Bristol-built, square of beam to sit on the mud of the port when the tide went out. “More room below,” Ned said miserably. “At least she’ll have more room than slaves.”

The prisoners were the last of the cargo, and the captain ticked them off the loading manifest as they came down to the quayside in chains. Johnnie and Ned in the shadow of a doorway could hear him count them off in numbers, as they went past him, no longer prisoners with names, now they were freight. If Rowan died at sea, they would never be able to discover it. No one would report it. It would not matter except as a loss of profit that had already been calculated—a number of prisoners always died at sea.

There was a high unearthly scream from somewhere inside the hold of the ship.

“Good God!” Johnnie said. “What was that?”

“Horses,” Ned said grimly. “They’re loading her with horses, for a two-month voyage, in high seas.”

The chained line of prisoners passed under a flickering torch and up the gangplank. Ned and Johnnie could not see which was Rowan. The flame of the torch leapt and was quenched in a gust of wind.

“Is that her?” Johnnie demanded as the line went up the gangplank. “Is she even there?”

Ned sighed: “There she is.”

She was a little shorter than the men chained on either side of her, and slighter. She walked with a short stride, as they all did, hobbled with iron chains on her ankles; but her shoulders were set and her head was up, and she was looking around, all the time, for a way out.

Ned could not bear it. Johnnie’s restraining hand could not stop him lunging forward. She saw the movement in the shadows and turned to look. She saw him. Their eyes met across the wet quay but she made no sign of recognition, she did nothing to draw attention to him. A very tiny nod of her head was the only movement that she made, as if she were thanking him for showing himself, telling her that her sacrifice was not for nothing. He was not dead of his wounds, he was not recaptured. She was going into servitude, but she had freed him.

Then the man before her jerked on the chains that joined them wrist to wrist and she made a little grimace and followed him up to the wooden gangplank, and then stepped down to the deck, and then she hesitated, just for a moment, as the dark hatch yawned before her, and the smell from the hold hit her.

She took one look at the sky, raveled with dark clouds, and the moon coming up as if to print the gray and blue-black colors in her memory, and then she stepped in, and went steadily down, until all they could see was the top of her dark head, and then she was gone.

Johnnie put a hand on Ned’s shoulder to pull him back into the sheltering doorway and felt at once that something was wrong. Ned turned to him, his face drained of color and his eyes black, and his knees bowed and he slid down to the wet cobbles.

HATTON GARDEN, LONDON, AUTUMN 1685

Thirteen-year-old Hester, Rob’s daughter, was waiting anxiously for her cousins, at the window of the parlor that overlooked the street. Her governess, Miss Prynne, was laying out books suitable for young ladies, on the parlor table. Her mother, Julia Reekie, was unwell, resting on the daybed in her bedroom with the blue silk curtains drawn against the bright light, and a cold cloth on her forehead.

“Is that them?” Hester peeped out of the window. The iron clamp on her leg knocked against the edge of the seat, and Miss Prynne frowned at her.

“Take care!” she said sharply. “No one wants to hear you clanking!”

The girl blushed scarlet as she settled herself in her seat, facing the room, trying to bring her feet neatly together. One foot was encased in a heavy leather boot braced with a metal clamp, and a raised heel to correct her club foot. Facing the room like a demure young lady, she still craned over her shoulder to see the stone steps to the street, and the plainly dressed woman and the two girls who rang the bell.

“It’s them!” Hester went to jump down from her seat, but a long look from the governess kept her still as the footman slowly walked the length of the hall and opened the front door.

“Mrs. Shore and Miss Gabrielle Russo and Miss Mia Russo,” she heard Alys say to the footman, who bowed and showed them into the parlor.

Miss Prynne rose from her seat at the table and curtseyed to the visitors. “How do you do?”

Alys nodded in reply and then turned to Hester. “Hello, my dear,”she said kindly. “And here are your cousins, Gabrielle and Mia, who’ve been longing to meet you ever since they came to London.”