Swords From the Sea
only noble in attendance, hastened to the old woman and took a cup from her hand, pressing it upon his royal patient.
    "Nay, Dudley, nay-" Edward coughed-"I am better without these drafts. So, doth Sir Hugh truly fare forth into the sea?"
    "Sir Hugh Willoughby-" the chamberlain bowed-"and Master Richard Chancellor have weighed anchor. You will remember, sire," he ran on officiously, "that they are resolved to seek a passage to Cathay and the new world, America. They will lay their course to the northeast, endeavoring to sail beyond the Christian shores, through the Ice Sea and so south to Cathay."
    "Faith, my lord duke," smiled the king, "the Spaniards and Portugals have left us nowhither else to sail. The Pope at Rome bath divided the known world between them."*
    A fanfare of trumpets at the shore acknowledged the salute, and Edward lifted his head impatiently.
    "Am I not to see them? I warrant you, 'tis a brave sight. Sir Squire, thou'rt stout and stalwart; can'st bear our poor body from this tent?"
    "That can I," cried the armiger quickly, and would have laid aside his harquebus, but hesitated.
    Edward was ever quick to read the thoughts of those who were near him. He studied the sentinel attentively, taking notice of the wide shoulders, the thews of neck and wrists, dwelling a second on the freckled, sunburned cheeks, still lean from convalescence.
    Thorne was no more than eighteen, the king sixteen. Yet in the poise of the head, in the quick gray eyes of the squire-at-arms was manifest the surge of life and health.
    "Your thoughts run to grave matters, good youth," Edward said at once. "You are charged to keep your post and weapon. Nay, lay it aside, at my bidding."
    Thorne bowed and placed his firelock against the pavilion wall. Then, advancing to the couch, he put an arm under Edward's knees and shoulders and lifted him easily. The slight form of the sick boy in its black velvet cassock seemed no weightier than straw.
    At the entrance the king urged him to go forward a few paces so that he could look up and down the river.
    "Look, Dudley," Edward cried, "the Spaniard overtops Sir Hugh's ship."
    "But yonder craft from Seville," the noble pointed out, "is a galleon fashioned for war. The ships that bear the colors of your majesty were built for the merchant adventures."
    "Then, Dudley," cried the boy, "they were stanchly built of seasoned and honest oak."
    "True. In the time of your majesty's illustrious grandsire and good King Harry, your father-whom may God save and assoil-no three ships could be got together, but one would be Venetian and one Dutch."
    He turned to wave back angrily the throng of soldiery and attendants that had presumed to draw near the pavilion, hoping for a word or a look from the sick boy who was beloved by kitchen knave and noble of the realm alike. Strict orders had been issued by Stratford and those who had the care of the king's person that no one should approach within arrow flight. For this reason the picked guards had been stationed.
    But Edward's eyes were on the passing ships wistfully. Here were men faring from the known seas into the unknown. Here were ships built and furnished and manned in England, going forth to discover a new route to the Indies, to bring to England some part of the trade with Cathay and the new world that had swelled the power of Spain and Portugal.*
    He watched the burly shipmen in their blue tabards, laboring at the oars of the boats that were towing the vessels. When they became aware of the king they roared out a cheer and pulled the harder. Others climbed up the shrouds to stare and wave a greeting, and a tall man on the poop of the last ship doffed his cap and bowed low.
    "Now, by St. Martin," exclaimed Edward, "I should know that graybeard."
    "Sire, your eyes are as keen as your memory is unfailing," responded Stratford after a moment's hesitation. "That venerable ship's captain is the notable navigant and cosmographer-"
    "Sebastian Cabot, the Venetian. I know

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