Not for Roberto, I thought. Not the little boy who had lain in my arms, who had given such joy to Felipe and brought us together.

What a cruel world, where men could do such things to men. Not my son. I would do anything but allow that to happen.

I must save him. I must find some means of getting him out of the country. Who would help me? Carlos? Jacko? Jake? How ironical. If I said: Roberto is here. He is involved in plots, he must escape, what would they do, these haters of Spaniards? At best they would draw their swords and run him through; more likely they would hand him over to those who sought him that he might die the dreaded traitor’s death.

I said: “I must have time to think. I must find some way. One thing is certain. You cannot stay here long. I must find another hiding place for you.”

“Madre, you must not be involved. They call those traitors who give aid to Catholics.”

“They can call me what they will. I shall guard my own son. I will leave you now. When I am gone you must lock the door and open it for no one but me. Eat the food I have brought. You must not grow weak and I see you are already.”

“I have walked far, Madre.”

“Eat and rest and I will come back.” I went to the door. “Lock it when I am gone and open for no one. Remember, it is most unsafe for you to remain here.”

I had opened the door and horror overwhelmed me.

Jake was standing there.

“Indeed it is most unsafe,” he said, “for traitors to hide on my lands.”

He came into the hut and shut the door. I felt as though I would faint and leaned against the stone wall for support.

“So,” said Jake, and never had I seen his eyes so brilliant, his mouth so cruel. “You are running from the law? You are a fool as well as a traitor to come here.”

He towered above Roberto. He seized him by the shoulder and shook him. His hand was on his sword.

I ran forward and gripped his arm; I hung onto it with all my strength. Jake looked down at me, his mouth hard as it could only be for Spaniards.

“Jake,” I pleaded. “For God’s sake. This is my son.”

“Your Spanish bastard,” he said.

His sword was out. I saw the gleaming steel. I tried to thrust myself between him and Roberto.

Jake pushed me aside. He put the point at Roberto’s throat.

“So you have come here, you dog.”

Roberto did not answer. He stood very still, his face white, his Spanish dignity never more apparent. I was praying incoherently, not to the God of the Protestants or the Catholics but to the God of love. Save my son. Let him live. Whatever happens to me now let him live. Let him escape to a good life. If I never see him again I care not, if he can live and be happy.

“Jake,” I cried. “Jake … I am begging you…”

Jake hesitated. It was miraculous that he should sheathe his sword.

“You left your lodging,” he said. “You are wanted. They will take you. It’s the traitor’s death for you. But you come down here. You would smear your traitorous slime on your mother. You would have her suspected of sharing in your evil crimes. If that were so even I could not save her. Do you know that, you coward?”

“I would not involve her. I would swear that she has never shared in my schemes. I would say she did not know I was here.”

“Be silent.” Jake was rocking on, his heels, thinking deeply.

He took the key from the hook.

“You will stay here,” he said.

And to me: “Come, Cat. Leave him.”

He pulled me out and locked the hut.

I said: “What are you going to do, Jake?”

“You will see,” he said.

I knew that he meant he would keep him a prisoner until he could hand him over to those who would bring him to trial and sentence him to the traitor’s death.

I do not know how I lived through that day. I could not think what I should do.

Jake was grim and silent, making plans, I knew. I asked myself whether Roberto would attempt to escape. If he did he could not get far. He was exhausted. Could he manage even to climb up to the small window, break it and jump through? He was not in the same condition that he had been in when Manuela and I had sheltered him before.

Jake was vengeful; he knew no gentle feelings. He would have killed him on the spot had I not been there. At least he had not wished to do so in my presence.

He went away and I stayed in my room. I dared not go to the hut for fear of what I would find there.

All day long I waited for something to happen. I kept thinking I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs—men come to take Roberto away. Five minutes was like an hour that day, one hour like twenty-four. I felt sick and ill; I could not get out of my mind the terrible picture of men’s suffering on the scaffold. This must not happen to Roberto … not to my son, the little boy of whom we had been so proud, Felipe and I.

Jake returned home in the late afternoon. He came to our bedroom.

“Jake,” I cried, “what are you doing?”

“What would you expect me to do?”

“You are giving him up?”

“He is still in the hut. He’s trussed up so that he can’t move and I have the key.”

“I beg of you Jake … I have never begged for anything from you yet but I do now … let him go. Please, Jake, if you will but do this…”

“What will you do?”

“I shall hate you forevermore if you harm my son.”

“You have talked so much of hating me over the years.”

“That was mock hatred. This will be real. If you harm Roberto…”

“You are dramatic. This is a traitor. Do you understand that, Cat? Very soon we shall be fighting for our lives against men such as your bastard Roberto. The Spaniards are preparing to come here … to force their evil doctrines on us, to set up the Inquisition in this land. Do you know what that means?”

“I do … I know that very well. I hate it. I would fight with all my strength and will against it.”

“Then you are with us, Cat, and those who are with us cannot allow those who are against us to escape … no matter who they are.”

“Let him go, Jake. Help him. You could. You could give him a horse. He could ride far into Cornwall. He could live there in peace.”

“Live in peace! Would he ever do that? He’d be trying to set up idols wherever he was.”

“Jake, Jake, I beg of you.”

There was silence.

He went out and left me. He went far, I knew, for when he came back his horse was exhausted.

Night came. I did not rest. I sat silent in my chair and wept.

Jake lay in bed, sleeping, or pretending to. He awoke and I was still sitting in the chair.

He came to me then and lifted me up and carried me to bed.

He held me in his arms.

“You’ll make yourself ill,” he said tenderly.

I did not reply. I knew words were useless now. He had made up his mind. I sensed the purpose in him.

I slept at last, worn out by my emotions.

It was daylight when I awoke and Jake had gone.

I thought I would go to the hut, but Jake had warned me so firmly not to that I did not go. I must wait in any case until I knew what I could do.

There must be something. “Please, God,” I prayed, “tell me what I can do. Help me to save my son.”

All morning I did not see Jake.

Jennet came. She was full of chatter.

“Look, Mistress, the Golden Fleece be ready to sail. They say she be going on the tide.”

I did not want to listen. I was thinking: Roberto, what can I do to save you?

I was afraid that Jennet was going to say that someone had been to the hut, but she did not mention it. She was full of the unexpected departure of the Golden Fleece. She had known a sailor who was one of the crew.

I sharply told her to be silent. I was in no mood to ponder on Jennet’s emotional entanglements. If she had lost her sailor on the Golden Fleece she would soon replace him.

Jake came in in the afternoon.

He said he wanted to speak with me and we went to our bedroom.