The House of Arden, E. Nesbit [best historical fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

“Oh!” cried Edred, “are you really Sir Walter Raleigh? Oh, how splendid! And now you’ll tell me all about the golden South Americas, and sea-fights, and the Armada and the Spaniards, and what you used to play at when you were a little boy.”

“Ay,” said Sir Walter, “I’ll tell thee tales enow. They’ll not let me from speaking with thee, I warrant. I would,” he said, looking round impatiently, “that I could see the river again. From my late chamber I saw it, and the goodly ships coming in and out⁠—the ships that go down into the great waters.” He sighed, was silent a moment, then spoke. “And so thou didst not know thine old friend Raleigh? He was all forgot, all forgot! And yet thou hast rid astride my sword ere now, and I have played with thee in the courtyard at Arden. When England forgets so soon, who can expect more from a child?”

“I’m sorry,” said Edred humbly.

“Nay,” said Sir Walter, pinching his ear gently, “ ’tis two years agone, and short years have short memories. Thou shall come with me to my chamber and I will show thee a chart and a map of Windargocoa, that Her Dear Glorious Majesty permitted me to rename Virginia, after her great and gracious self.”

So Edred, very glad and proud, went hand in hand with Sir Walter Raleigh to his apartments, and saw many strange things from overseas⁠—dresses of feathers from Mexico, and strange images in gold from strange islands, and the tip of a narwhal’s horn from Greenland, and many other things. And Sir Walter told him of his voyages and his fights, and of how he and Humphrey Gilbert, and Adrian Gilbert, and little Jack Davis used to sail their toy boats in the Long Stream, and how they used to row in and out among the big ships down at the Port, and look at the great figureheads, standing out high above the water, and wonder about them and about the strange lands they came from.

“And often,” said Sir Walter, “we found a sea-captain that would tell us lads travellers’ tales like these I have told thee. And we sailed our little ships, and then we sailed our big ships⁠—and here I lie in dock, and shall never sail again. But it’s oh! to see the Devon moors, and the clear reaches of the Long Stream again! And that I never shall.” And with that he leaned his arm on the windowsill, and if he had not been the great Sir Walter Raleigh, who is in all the history books, Edred would have thought he was crying.

“Oh, do cheer up⁠—do!” said Edred awkwardly. “I don’t know whether they’ll let you go to Devonshire⁠—but I know they’ll let you go back to America some day. With twelve ships. I read about it only yesterday; and your ship will be called the Destiny, and you’ll sail from the Thames, and Lord Arden will see you off and kiss you for farewell, and give you a medal for a keepsake. Your son will go with you. I know it’s true. It’s all in the book.”

“The book?” Sir Walter asked. “A prophecy, belike?”

“You can call it that if you want to,” said Edred cautiously; “but, anyhow, it’s true.”

He had read it all in the History of Arden.

“If it should be true,” said Sir Walter, and the smile came back to his merry eyes, “and if I ever sail to the Golden West again, shrew me but I will sack a Spanish town, and bring thee a collar of gold and pieces of eight⁠—a big bag-full.”

“Thank you, very much,” said Edred, “it is very kind of you: but I shall not be there.”

And all Sir Walter’s questions did not make him say how he knew this, or what he meant by it.

After this he met Sir Walter every day in the lieutenant’s garden, and the two prisoners comforted each other. At least Edred was comforted, and Sir Walter seemed to be. But no one could be sure if it was more than seeming. This was one of the questions that always puzzled the children⁠—and they used to talk it over together till their heads seemed to be spinning round. The question of course was: Did their being in past times make any difference to the other people in past times? In other words, when you were taking part in historical scenes, did it matter what you said or did? Of course, it seemed to matter extremely⁠—at the time. But then if this going into the past was only a sort of dream, then, of course, the people in the past would know nothing about it, unless they had dreamed the same sort of dream⁠—which, as Elfrida often pointed out, was quite likely, especially if time didn’t count, or could be cheated by white clocks. On the other hand, if they really went into the real past⁠—well, then, of course, what they did must count for real too, as Edred so often said. And yet how could it, since they took with them into the past all that they learned here? And with that knowledge they could have revealed plots, shown the issue of wars and the fate of kings, and, as Elfrida put it, “made history turn out quite different.” You see the difficulties, don’t you? And Betty Lovell’s having said that they could leave no trace on times past did not seem to make much difference somehow, one way or the other.

However, just now Elfrida and Edred were in the Tower, and not able to see each other, so they could not discuss that or any other question. And they always hoped that they would meet, but they never did.

But by and by the Queen thought of Lady Arden, and decided that she and her son Edred ought to be let out of the Tower, and she told the King so, and he told Lord Somebody or other, who told the