Raleigh's Page by Alan Armstrong

Author:Alan Armstrong
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780375890789
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2007-09-25T04:00:00+00:00

24

CHRISTMAS REVELS

The Queen ordered Sir Walter to bring the Indians to Whitehall Palace for her Christmas Revels. Andrew and Mr. Harriot had learned some of their Algonquin language by now, so they went along as interpreters.

Andrew stood tall, proud to enter the Presence Room of the palace in his best page’s outfit: tan hose, pale gray tunic with “WR” embroidered in red silk at the center, black shoes of Venetian leather. Mr. Harriot wore what he always wore, his long black coat.

The great hall was bright with music, scented candles, and cords of evergreens. The people wore perfume and powder. The air was choking thick with cinnamon, clove, sweat, and smoke.

There were great platters of meat cut up small for the guests to spear on their knives, pies and sugared fruits, marchpane, sweetmeats, and great bowls of syllabub—thick cream mixed with sweet wine, lemon rinds, and sugar. One cup made Andrew’s head spin. The company downed it like water.

Sir Walter wore the orange silk tunic of the Queen’s Guard over black hose, his knife at his belt. A gold hoop flashed in his ear. He looked the prince of pirates.

On a sign from Raleigh, Andrew and Mr. Harriot paraded the Indians forward, their bodies oiled and painted mulberry red under their war costumes—loincloths, ornamented deerskin capes, and the stone-headed war hatchets they called tomahawks. As they walked, they gestured what they would do to their enemies. It was not pretend; despite everything Andrew and Mr. Harriot had said to put them at ease, they lived ready to fight.

The revelers stilled and murmured as the two glided past.

Manteo and Wanchese understood that while Sir Walter was chief of Durham House, the Queen was Big Chief Elizabeth, in charge of all.

To a drum-and-trumpet fanfare of Sir Walter’s composing, the Indians were to carry the boar’s head to the Queen’s table—red water like blood at the neck, its tusks and eyes wetted so it would appear fresh killed.

It was Andrew’s first visit to the Queen. She took no notice of him; she saw only the warriors. Her eyes were brown and piercing, coldly measuring everything she saw.

As Andrew stood to one side, he tried to figure her age. Was she as old as or older than his mother? Her body was that of a youngish woman, but her face was a puzzle. It was long and pointed. Her chin was sharp. It could be a boy’s face, he thought. She is not beautiful, but she looks strong in purpose.

To appear young, Elizabeth had her people smear her face with a fine white paste that concealed every blemish. Behind this mask, only her eyes and mouth moved, her mouth but little. The heavy jeweled dress and jacket she wore kept her body fixed in place.

The Indians had a superstition that the paleness of their English skin meant they were spirits from the dead. The whiteness of the Queen’s face scared them. In Virginia, when a chief died, they dressed him in his finery and laid him on a shelf in a special house they kept for their dead.

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