John Barth - The Sot-Weed Factor

Burlingame sighed. "No more than I knew in Plymouth. Do you recall I said the Journal was parceled out to sundry Papist Smiths? Well, the first of these was Richard Smith, right here in Calvert County, that is Lord Baltimore's surveyor general. As soon as I was established here and had revealed myself to Nicholson, I set out to collect the various portions, so that Coode and all his cohorts could be prosecuted. But when I reached Dick Smith and gave him the Governor's password — "

"He told you Coode had long since got his portion by some ruse," Ebenezer laughed.

" 'Tis a thin joke, 'sheart! Dick Smith had tried to help some Papist friends of his by making 'em deputy surveyors, and after Governor Copley died, Coode saw his chance to raise a cry of Popery and turn Smith's property inside out. How did you hear of it?"

Ebenezer withdrew from his pocket the few folded pages of the diary that remained to him. "How should I not learn something of intrigue myself, with such a marvelous tutor? You'll see naught here to read, but these are pages from the document you speak of."

Burlingame snatched them eagerly and held them to the lamplight. "Ah, Christ!" he cried. "There's scarce a word preserved!"

"Not of the Assembly Journal," Ebenezer agreed. He told how he had stolen the papers from Pound and carried them with him off the shallop's plank. " 'Tis Maryland's ill luck we've lost the evidence," he concluded, and laughed again at Burlingame's chagrin. "Cheer yourself, Henry! Do you think I'd keep such a prize two minutes ere I read the recto through?"

"Praise God! You've learned to tease as well!"

Without more ado, though the night was nearly done, Ebenezer described the secret history of Captain John Smith's voyage up the Chesapeake and narrated, with some embarrassment, the entire tale of Hicktopeake's voracious queen.

"This is too excellent!" cried Henry at the end of it. "We know Sir Henry came alive with Smith from the town of Powhatan and went with him up the Bay. What's more, from all we've heard, each loathed the other and wished him ill, and there's no word of Burlingame in Smith's Generall Historie — d'you suppose Smith did him in?"

"Let's hope not, till Sir Henry sired a son," Ebenezer said. "At best he could be no closer than a grandsire to yourself." He then recalled what Meech had proposed to Pound — that if he were Baltimore he'd divide the Journal among several colleagues named Smith. "I'd have thought of it sooner were I not near dead for want to sleep; belike Pound made no mention of't, Coode was so wroth with him."

"Or belike he did, to help redeem himself." Burlingame stood up and stretched. "In any case, we'd best go fetch the rest without delay. Let's sleep now for a while, and come morning we'll make our plans."

The Laureate's desire for sleep overcame his trepidations regarding Captain Mitchell, and they returned through the slumbering house to the bed-chamber where he had so nearly lost his chastity some hours earlier. Bertrand was not there.

" 'Twas your Bertrand I saw first," Henry said, "and scarce believed my eyes! When he told me you were here I sent him off to sleep with our servants, so that you and I could talk in peace. In the morning he can go to St. Mary's in a wagon with one of our men and claim your trunk."

"Aye, very good," Ebenezer said, but he had only half heard Henry's words. Not long before, in the barn, he had been oddly disturbed by his friend's mention of Bertrand, without quite knowing why; now he remembered what the valet had told him at their first encounter aboard the Poseidon, nearly half a year past: of the several meetings between valet and tutor not reported by Burlingame, and of Burlingame's liaison with Anna — which latter memory, understandably, was most unpleasant in the light of what he had just learned about his friend's amorous practices.

Burlingame set down the shaded lantern and began undressing for bed. "The wisest thing then would be to have him ferry the trunk right across the Bay to Malden. 'Tis but a matter of — "

"Henry!" the Laureate broke in.

"What is't? Why are you so alarmed?" He laughed. "Get on, now, 'tis not long till dawn."

"Where is my commission from Lord Baltimore?"

For a moment Burlingame looked startled; then he smiled. "So, your servant told you I have it?"

"Nay," Ebenezer said sadly. "Only that I had it not."

"Then doubtless he forgot to tell you 'twas from him I had to buy it," Henry said testily, "with a five-pound bribe, and merely to safeguard it till Maryland? How I wish old Slye and Scurry had caught the wretch while 'twas still in his possession! Don't you understand, Eben? That paper was the warrant for its bearer's death! E'en so, your loyal valet made him a fair copy, telling me 'twas but to boast of in London — I little dreamed he'd steal your place on the Poseidon!"

He laid his hand on the poet's arm. "Dear boy, 'tis late in the day for quarrels."

But Ebenezer drew away. "Where is the paper hidden?"

Burlingame sighed and climbed into the bed. "In the ocean off Bermuda, forty fathoms deep."

"What?"

" 'Twas the one time Slye and Scurry played me false. I heard them plotting to search my cabin for jewels, that they thought the king of France had given Coode; I had one hour to draw up papers with Coode's name and throw away all others. Nay, don't look so forlorn! I've long since writ you out another, in hopes you were alive."

"But how can you — "

"As his Lordship's agent in such matters," said Burlingame. He got out of bed and with a key from his trousers' pocket unlocked a small chest in one corner of the room. With the aid of the lantern he selected one from a number of papers in the chest and presented it for Ebenezer's inspection. "Doth it please you?"

"Why 'tis the original! Thou'rt teasing me!"

Burlingame shook his head. " 'Tis two weeks old at most; I could do its like again in five minutes."

"I'faith, then, thou'rt the world's best forger of hands!"

"Haply I am, but you do me too much honor in this instance." He smiled: " 'Twas I that penned the original."

"Not so!" cried the poet. "I saw it penned myself!"

Henry nodded. "I well remember. You fooled and fiddled with the ribbons on your scabbard and had like to piss for very joy."

" 'Twas Baltimore himself — "

"You have never seen Charles Calvert," Burlingame said. "Nor hath any stranger lately who comes uncalled for to his door: 'twas one of my duties then to greet such folk and sound them out. When you were announced I begged his lordship to let me disguise myself as him, as was my wont with uncertain guests. 'Twas but a matter of powdering my beard and feigning stiffness in the joints — " He altered his voice to sound exactly like the one that had narrated to Ebenezer the history of the Province. "The voice and hand were childs play to mimic."

Ebenezer could not contain his disappointment; his eyes watered.

"Ah, now, what doth it matter?" Burlingame sat beside him on the bed and placed an arm across his shoulders. " 'Twas for the same reason I posed as Peter Sayer for a while: to feel you out. Besides, Baltimore heard and seconded all I said. Your commission hath his entire blessing, I swear." He gave Ebenezer a squeeze.

"Tell me truly, Henry," the Laureate demanded, moving clear. "What is your relationship with Anna?"

"Ah, friend Bertrand again," Burlingame said calmly. "What do you think it to be, Eben?"

"I think thou'rt secretly in love with her," Ebenezer accused.

"Thou'rt in error, then, for there's nothing secret in't."

"No trysts or secret meetings? No sweetmeats and honeybees ?"

"Dear friend, control yourself!" Henry said firmly. "Your sister doth me the honor of returning my regard and hath the good sense not to invite her brother's and her father's wrath in consequence. As for me, I love her in the same way I love you — no more, no less."