Free The Dandelion Seed by Lena Kennedy

of the great house of Theobalds had greatly impressed him and to this day he was still awed by its splendour, and could conjure it up in his mind at will, the tall towers of the house each surmounted by a golden weather vane glinting in the bright sunlight, and the broad expanse of window with the tiny leaded panes shining in a myriad of colours. The sight of the rich red bricks against the green magnificent parkland was certainly one to see and remember. That first sight had been nine years ago, when he was nine years younger. Perhaps he would not be so easily impressed by the sight of such a magnificent display now. And it had partly been the circumstances, for he could remember how the Privy Council and all the great men of England had stood before the entrance to the house waiting to greet the new king. In the centre of them all was the white-faced figure of the hunch-backed Cecil, son of the brains behind the late Elizabethan court. The owner of this great mansion was such a small, insignificant man, with the white hands of an artist, Thomas had noticed. He had also noted the way the plumes of the noblemen’s hats waved in the breeze and the jewels glittered on their elaborate dress. But most of all, he remembered their tense set faces as they wondered how they would fare with the funny-looking Scotsman who was to be their king.
    Not many of those men were now left, he thought. For heads had soon begun to roll. The new king was no fool. Thomas had watched him that day dismount and walk with his shambling gait as he surveyed his new ministers. With the absurd-looking bonnet on his head and the lewd look in his eye, Thomas thought at the time that he had never seen anyone looking less like a king.
    Later that night, while the feasting was in progress in the great hall, small fry like himself looked on. The centrepiece of the hall was a fountain which sprayed water into a huge bowl supported by four naked figures; it was the wonder of the age. All around the walls were magnificent portraits of generations of Cecils, and the ceiling was carved in the form of a star with the painted sun which seemed to move across it. Yes, it certainly had been an exciting day which, for Thomas had ended with a maid, whom he had long forgotten. She had been drunk and very willing when Thomas came across her in the corridor. Oh to be young again, he thought with a deep sigh. His thoughts continued on the same lines as he remembered how the next morning he had accompanied his elder brother and several others to inform their master, Sir Walter Raleigh, of the situation at Theobalds. For Raleigh had not been certain of his own welcome and had sent out his spies to assess the situation before arriving himself to greet the new king.
    The family of Thomas Mayhew had been land-owning gentry on the estate of Sherbourne and Dorset, the home of Raleigh, the famous Elizabethan courtier. Raleigh’s son Cary, was close to Thomas in age, and the two boys had been good friends, riding the moors together and fishing in the wide rivers of Dorset. Since his father’s fall from favour and subsequent imprisonment in the Tower, Cary had taken to roaming the streets of London and getting into brawls with the new Scottish courtiers. The Mayhews’ love and loyalty to their famous master had been deep and enduring and his downfall had been a bitter blow to Thomas’ father and elder brothers. But at the time, Thomas, who had been very young and prepared only to live for each day, had not really noticed the significance of these goings-on. However, on the death of his father, he had suddenly decided that the sea would be his life, being quite tired by that time of royal processions and philandering. He made up his mind to travel to the New World and perhaps, if he got the chance, to settle in Virginia. Now that his father was dead, his brother was back on the farm; times had certainly changed since that night at Theobalds.
    He stared ruefully up at the ceiling. Here