“Alchemy is a snare, as also astrology,” said Don Manuel sternly. “I regard the tenets of Paracelsus as pernicious, señor, but I believe they are much studied and thought of in England. A creed both absurd and heretical! Why, I have heard a man doubt but that his neighbour was born under the sign of Sagittarius for no better reason than that he had a ruddy cheek, or a chestnut beard. Likewise you will meet those who will not stir beyond their doors without they have a piece of coral about them, or a sapphire to give them courage, or some other such toys, fit only for children or infidels. Then you will hear talk of the sky’s division into Houses, this one governing such-and-such a thing, and that some other. A silly conceit, obtaining credulity of the foolish.” Thus Don Manuel disposed of Paracelsus, very summarily.
III
The second day was very bright, with a hot sun beating down upon the sea, and a stiff breeze blowing to fill the sails. Don Manuel remained below on his bunk, worn and shaken by the agitations and exertions of the previous day. He made a poor breakfast of sops dipped in wine, and sent his daughter from him. He shook with fever, and complained of the headache. Hovering assiduously about him was his own man, Bartolomeo, but he had also Joshua Dimmock to attend to his wants. This was done mighty expertly. Joshua discoursed learnedly on several fevers, and, not sharing Don Manuel’s views on the Chaldean creed, prescribed the wearing of some chips from a gallows as a certain cure. These he produced from somewhere about his person, and expatiated fervently upon their magical properties. Don Manuel waved them testily aside, but consented to drink a strong cordial, which, he was assured, came straight from the stillroom of my Lady Beauvallet herself, a dame well-versed in these mysteries.
“A sure potion, señor, as I have proved,” Joshua told him, “containing julep and angelica, a handful of juniper-berries, and betony, as also mithridate (so I believe), not to mention wormwood, which the world knows to be very potent against all manner of fevers. The whole, noble señor, steeped in a spirit of wine by my lady’s own hands, and sealed up tightly, as you perceive. Deign only to test of its values!”
Don Manuel drank off the cordial, and was assured of a speedy recovery. But Joshua shook his head secretly over the case, and told Sir Nicholas, in his private ear, that he carried a dying man aboard the Venture.
“I know it,” Beauvallet said briefly. “If I read well the signs the cameras de sangre is in him.”
“I observed it, sir. At a glance, you would say. His man—a lank, melancholic fool if ever I saw one!—stands prating of quotidian fevers, but no, quoth I, say rather the cameras de sangre, dolt. I shall poke out the folds of the ruff, please you, sir.” He performed this office for Sir Nicholas, and stood back to regard his handiwork. The poking-stick was levelled at Sir Nicholas next by way of emphasis. “Moreover, master, and mark you well! it is not to be considered a favourable omen. By no means! A death portends disaster. I do not speak of such willy-nilly deaths as might chance in battle. That is understood. A lingering sickness is another and quite different matter. We must set the worthy señor ashore with all speed.”
“How now! What’s this, rogue?” demanded Beauvallet, lying back in his chair. “Set him ashore where and for what?”
“I judge the Canaries to be a convenient spot, sir. The reason is made clear: he must die upon land—or at least upon another ship than ours. We need not concern ourselves with that.” He ducked quickly to avoid a boot hurled at his head.
“Cullion!” Beauvallet apostrophised him. “Curb that prattling cheat of yours! We set the gentleman ashore in Spain. Mark that!”
Joshua picked up the boot, and knelt to help Sir Nicholas put it on, no whit abashed. “I shall take leave to say, master, that this is to put our heads in a noose again.”
“Be sure yours will end there one day,” said Sir Nicholas cheerfully.
“As to that, sir, I do not go roystering up and down the world, sacking and plundering,” replied Joshua, entirely without venom. “A gentle thrust, sir, and we have the boot on. So!” He smoothed a wrinkle from the soft Cordovan leather, and held ready the second boot. “You are to understand, sir, that it is no matter to me, for it was clearly proved in the reading of my horoscope that I should die snug in my bed. It would be well to have your horoscope cast, master, that we may know what to beware of.”
“Beware your bed, dizzard, and get you hence!” Beauvallet recommended. “You tempt me overmuch.” He made a short, suggestive movement of his arched foot.
“That, master,” said Joshua philosophically, “is as may be, and at your worship’s pleasure. I do not gainsay you have the right. But I shall take leave to say withal that this junketting upon the high seas with a wench aboard—nay two—”
“What?” Beauvallet roared, and jerked himself upright in his chair.
Joshua’s shrewd grey eyes widened. “Oho! Pardon, sir, a lady was the word. But it’s all the same, by your good leave, or rather worse, if the wind sits in that quarter with you. However, I say nothing. But it’s against all custom and proper usage, and I misdoubt me an evil chance may befall.”
Beauvallet fell to stroking his pointed beard, seeing him at which significant trick Joshua backed strategically to the door. “An evil chance will without any doubt at all shortly befall you, my friend,” said Sir Nicholas, and came to his feet,
