Page 106 of Time's Fool

Raleigh had preferred Bess Throckmorton, a well-connected young beauty with clear skin, bright eyes, and a pert bosom, who was also carrying his child. This sin landed him in the Tower, forcing him to give way to his subordinate. But because of the delay, Burgh missed the Spanish treasure fleet on its way back from the Americas, and decided to lie in wait near the Azore islands, off the coast of Portugal, instead.

He had heard rumors that the Portuguese fleet would soon be returning from the East, and hoped to snare a tasty prize. But what came his way was better than anything he could have imagined: the Madre de Deus, a giant Portuguese carrack, heavily laden and separated from its accompanying ships by a storm. It was cumbersome and sluggish and, although heavily armed and carrying a crew of seven hundred men, was no match for a bunch of hungry privateers.

It was taken after a fierce, day long battle. Kit didn’t know if Burgh had had any idea of the riches that lay within when he attacked it. But if not, it must have been a shock to board a ship that you hoped contained a few chests of spice, only to find a haul valued at half the royal treasury.

The hold had yielded chests of gold and silver coins; piles of loose pearls, rubies, and diamonds, and finely wrought, strangely designed jewelry. There were large quantities of silk, including some heavily embroidered with gold, seed pearls and gemstones. And stacks of richly printed calicoes, which retailed for almost as much as silk in England, where the new designs from the East were becoming all the rage. There were also exotic animal hides, chests of Chinese porcelain, tapestries, and carpets, and stacks of unworked elephant teeth and ebony.

And that wasn’t to mention the vast array of spices, ambergris, and cochineal on board, the latter of which produced a scarlet even more vivid than the kermes that had likely dyed the doxy’s petticoat, and was literally worth more than its weight in gold. And the Madre de Deus had been hauling twenty-five tons of it. But Gillian wasn’t an expert in dyes; she was an expert in gems, which was why Kit wasn’t surprised to hear what her group had concentrated on.

“We took a fine haul of jewels,” she said, a reminiscent smile on her face as she sipped the terrible tea. “Rings set with precious stones, including one in the form of a strange, elongated dragon with a sapphire in its mouth, a collection of golden bracelets, richly carved, as well as collars of pearls, two great crosses set with emeralds, and a gold chain and cross set with diamonds.”

“A king’s ransom,” Kit said, impressed.

“A coven’s,” she corrected. “We were tired of hiding, of barely scraping by, of constantly looking over our shoulders and expecting the Circle to be there. And more and more often, they were. We’d had run ins with them thrice already, and barely gotten away the last time, and only because one of our own sacrificed himself to distract them.”

She was quiet for a moment, as if lost in thought, and then shook her head and continued.

“We knew we had to leave England, but we needed money to escape and start over somewhere else, and little way to get it without attracting the very type of attention we were trying to avoid. The Madre de Deus came along at the perfect moment.”

“And yet you were taken,” Kit said quietly. He’d met her in one of the Circle’s prisons, half dead along with her daughter. Until the witches there rose up under her direction, killed their captors, and fled.

“The Circle was watching the ship,” she said bitterly. “The reason such a large treasure was allowed to be looted was due to their influence. They used it as bait, then waited and watched to see who came, and followed those who used magic.

“And they caught us. They caught almost all of us. If you hadn’t come to the prison that day—”

“We helped each other,” Kit reminded her.

Gillian didn’t comment that time, but her eyes darkened in memory.

“One of my old coven members was there,” Rilda said, breaking in before the mood turned sour. “On the Madre de Deus. John Cummings—did you know him?”

“No, but I may have passed him on the deck,” Gillian’s lips twisted. “Half the thieves in England showed up that night. My group almost got into a fight with two other groups until we realized: one of them was working with some local merchants and come after spices, while the other was a bunch of rogues stealing silks.”

“What happened?” Kit asked, intrigued as to how thieves solved such a dilemma.

Gillian shot him an amused look. “We made a covenant between us to each take our item and leave the rest, and to split the bribe for the sailors between us!”

He laughed. “I heard thieves hauled off half the cargo before the queen received her proper share.”

Gillian snorted. “Three fifths, more like. The ship was raided numerous times, before the queen finally let Raleigh out of prison to take charge. She cleared £80,000 on a £3,000 investment, but it should have been much more. I’ve . . . failed to mention . . . my part in her hearing.”

“Just as well,” he agreed. The queen’s famous outbursts may have started out as a way to remind her courtiers of how much she resembled her famous, irascible father, but age had not improved her temper.

Not at all.

“John took this case of cedar wood, amongst other things,” Rilda said, tapping the chest that housed the herbs. “It seemed that the captain of the ship liked well his tea, and was bringing back a supply for his own use. John knew how I used to enjoy dithering with my plants, as he called it, and thought to surprise me with a new one I’d not yet seen.”

She sipped her cup and her face became wistful. “He is gone now. His widow sent me the news just last week. He died of natural causes—his heart. Although I can’t but believe that the loss of the coven affected him. He was never the same after.”

“Nor were any of us,” Gillian murmured, her fingers tracing the intricate designs on the chest’s lid. She looked up suddenly. “Thank you for sharing this. You have a limited supply.”

“Aye, I try to save it for special occasions,” Rilda agreed. “But I thought tonight was appropriate, as a way to honor John. And all those we lost.”

“To those we lost,” Gillian agreed, and drank her tea. Kit did likewise, despite not caring for the stuff. But he understood drinking to the lives of fallen friends.

For a while, there was silence around the little table, each person lost in their thoughts. Kit didn’t know what the others were musing, but he was even more impressed than before by Gillian’s resiliency. He remembered her as she’d been when first they met, dirty, desperate, half-starved and worried out of her mind over her child. And yet, strong enough to rally an equally bedraggled group of women, to remind them of who they had been, and who they still were, long enough to get away.

The Circle was right to be worried, he thought.

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