Arturo Serrano - To Climates Unknown - An Alternate History of a World Without America

Afternoon, April 4 (Julian), 1581

London

Sixteen-year-old apprentice sailor William Adams exited the shipyard where he worked at Limehouse, rowed a boat across the Thames, and headed to the Royal Navy docks in Deptford, where already an adoring multitude was gathering to watch the ceremonial mooring of the Golden Hind and cheer its captain, England’s newest hero Francis Drake. The bravest of explorers to his countrymen, no better than a thirsty suckerfish to Spain, the man was equal measures loved at home and almost universally despised abroad. Both sentiments were born of one divisive fact: the world had only so much gold and silver, and a pound of it the Spanish didn’t take became a pound in England’s coffers. For a boy of William’s age, the tales of raided galleons and newly claimed possessions for the Crown made Drake a paragon of sailors. But for some in high positions, he was an unbridled, reckless, dangerously independent man.

The fact that Queen Elizabeth refused to recognize King Philip’s claim to any of the riches of America was not, in either’s eyes, sufficient reason to disrupt diplomacy, but it was clear that Drake had crossed a line. He had returned with treasures pillaged from the Spanish fleet, more gold than England knew existed, taken by a thief from other, no less greedy thieves, and now Elizabeth had trouble on her hands. Though Drake’s adventures had inflamed the nation’s sense of pride, to openly avow a plunderer would send a risky message to Madrid. Ambassador Mendoza had demanded that the loot be restituted to the Spanish Crown, and there were lords in London who agreed with him, but it was rumored that the Queen made bigger calculations. She could not permit the Popish heretics to flourish unopposed, and any chance to strike at Spain’s ambitions was of use to her. With Drake back home in London, all were holding their collective breath to know what would become of him, and William Adams wanted, more than anything, to tell his children he’d been there, among the witnesses, as history occurred.

By order of the Queen, the Golden Hind had been conveyed to Deptford Creek for exhibition, to create an everlasting monument to national panache. A gauntlet had been thrown to Spain, and Londoners were thrilled with having no idea what would happen next. The massive scene in Deptford, lit up by the presence of the man himself aboard his ship, appeared to them to be a foretaste of the future.

William joined the celebration just as Drake saluted his admirers, fully knowing where he stood: this was a neighborhood of seamen. Everyone acclaimed the captain of the first successful circumnavigation of the world. A minute passed, and gradually the claps and cries of jubilation ceased. A murmur grew among the crowd, and William didn’t know which way to look; it seemed that something of the maximum importance had occurred. They pushed him sideways, which obstructed momentarily his view, but when the movement of the people ceased, the reason for the sudden relocation made itself so clear his jaw fell open, and the shock debarred him, for the briefest moment, from remembering to bow his head.

It was the Queen.

Behind her followed an increasing retinue of courtiers William hadn’t heard about; more boats were still arriving at the shore. The thought amused him that the whole procession had presumably traversed the streets of London, advertising their intentions to the passersby, to be unceremoniously detained by water at the place that mattered. One by one they reached the ship, admiring its magnificent construction and imagining the penuries it had endured, but William sensed they didn’t feel as strongly as he did about the life for which he was laboriously training. Not for them the secrets of the sea. He would, one day, discover lands beyond the borders of the known cartography; survive whatever storm it pleased the gods to throw his way; and at the end of his adventures, dock his ship right there, in view of all his fellow sailors, and accept the accolades of an entire kingdom for the kind of exploits from which legends would for centuries be born. One day he’d be like Captain Drake, and it would be the nobles’ turn to step aside for him.

However, on that fourth of April, every subject of Her Majesty’s was making way for her: a bridge of planks had been installed between the pier and the famous vessel, and as she began ascending to the deck, the people noticed Drake was unmistakably intimidated by the royal visitation. He was not a stranger to her presence, but it was one thing to secretly negotiate the future of the world, and obviously another to participate in public in whatever this occasion was intended by the Queen to signify. Until that day there’d been no word on her decision; as of yet it was uncertain whether he would be rewarded or beheaded. She was greeted by a very nervous captain, who proceeded to congratulate her on her health, indulged in some rehearsed oration on the oft-repeated story of his journey, and invited her to dine aboard. The ministers and earls and dukes and clergymen who were nearby agreed with pleasure to be fed. They walked toward the ship, and promptly all the people in attendance followed too. Nobility and sailors mingled on the wooden bridge, and William went with them; he had been wishing for a chance to personally talk to Drake, but all around him were so many heads and arms and bodies that he found it hard to breathe. As people kept arriving from behind, they started pushing forward. William disappeared amid the mass of curious spectators. He found himself constricted by the heavy bosom of a lady at his back, and by the bricklike muscles of a giant man in front of him. They knew to shut their mouths before Her Majesty, so he heard all but couldn’t see a thing.

An hour seemed to pass. It took at least that much for William’s ears to pick a voice that sounded like the Queen’s.

“You have Our thanks for this exceedingly stupendous banquet,” she began.

It seemed they had already finished with the food, and William wondered how much longer he would have to stand immobile in the crowd, not seeing anything. He was exhausted from prolonged tiptoeing. Once or twice he tried to jump, to no avail. Dismayed, he hung his head and groaned. His lowered gaze was now reflected in the water of the creek.

Elizabeth was talking still. “Alas, We must discuss important business.”

Everyone suppressed a gasp, and William thought he heard a chain of whispers saying that the Queen had drawn a sword.

“The King of Spain demands that We cut off your head,” she said so casually that no one dared to blink. “We order you to kneel.”

The air that separated William from the scene was heavy with anticipation. He was desperate to catch a glimpse of the unfolding history mere steps ahead of him, but every soul in Deptford strived to do the same, and all that reached him was the spreading rumor that the French ambassador had grabbed the sword. That raised a dozen questions more in William’s head, but he was given little time for thought, because what they heard next was Queen Elizabeth announcing, “Rise, Sir Francis Drake,” at which the multitude erupted in applause.