Chapter 21

The year was 1589, December 25th.

John White, waking from his sleep, habitually began to change into his outdoor clothes, intending to head for Durham House, the residence of his patron, Sir Raleigh. But then… he removed his coat once more.

Sir Walter Raleigh would have left to attend the Christmas feast hosted by the Queen. To cover up the failure of the expedition against Spain and maintain public opinion, the banquet would be even more lavish than usual. They would indulge in desserts made of almond paste, decorated with sugar sculptures, served on plates crafted from hardened sugar and gelatin. They would spend their days in luxury, feasting on gingerbread, all manner of tarts and pies, and puddings made from the entrails of wild boars.

Afterward, he would likely sip on mulled wine, whisper sweet nothings to his lover, the Queen, watch a play together, and then enjoy the night together.

Perhaps Sir Raleigh himself would be angered to hear such a story. He might say, Do you know how thin the ice is in the political world after the failure of the expedition? Do you know that no one knows who will be the next to fall from grace? This feast, he might argue, was merely an extension of the wartime propaganda, a pretense that they had won a great victory, that they had suffered no damage at all. It was just another arduous duty that he, as a courtier, had to endure.

Perhaps. Perhaps Sir Raleigh was suffering his own hardships.

But at the very least, he would be surrounded by people.

…He would not feel lonely.

And was it only Sir Raleigh? All of London would be roasting geese, dancing and singing, and sharing warm drinks together. Even the beggars would likely have a more bountiful day than any other winter day.

With their families.

With their old friends.

Because that was Christmas. Because that was the happiness a person could enjoy on the day the Savior came into the world.

His face now barren, unable to produce even a sigh or a tear, he looked around the cold, silent room. It was quiet and dusty. He had not once thought to clean or tidy the place since his return to London.

Because he would be returning soon.

He would soon… return to Roanoke Island, receive the welcome of his beloved daughter and his disagreeable son-in-law, and tickle his granddaughter’s nose.

That was his home.

Not… this miserable, shabby hovel.

He hated London. He hated it with a passion. He wanted to escape this place. He despised its people. He cursed all its laughter, happiness, and joy.

While everyone else was happy, only he was miserable.

“…Eleanor.”

Are you well?

And Virginia? Is she well?

You, too, must be celebrating Christmas today. You, too, must be looking out from across that great Atlantic, toward the far east. Waiting… for me.

The window, rattling in the cold wind, was blown open, and the frozen, yet vibrant, scenery of London unfolded before his eyes. Hating the sound of the carols drifting in from outside, he closed the window again. And the gray-haired, middle-aged man wept alone.

…I do not want to live anymore. I do not want to be tormented in this terrible world. This Christmas… I hate it so much…

.

.

.

“Mr. White?”

A voice called to him.

Tinkle.

The sound of a small bell.

When he raised his head… a warm light enveloped him. A long table was set under a wide tent. All the native chiefs from the vicinity of the Pamlico Sound were seated there, looking somewhat awkward. Leading them was Manteo, dressed like any Englishman in a fine doublet[1] and cloak.

To the left of the head of the table, as representatives of the English settlers, sat Thomas Hewitt and the Spanish representative, Vicente Gonzales, engaged in some theological debate. To the right of the head of the table were two empty seats, and between them sat his daughter, Eleanor Dare. One of the empty seats was for Manteo, and the other was…

“Mr. White, please, sit here. You will be cold if you keep standing by the entrance.”

…his.

In a daze, White sat down in the empty seat. He felt a sense of anxiety, as if he did not belong here, as if he had taken someone else’s seat. The sight of Eleanor, with Virginia on her lap, giggling and saying, “Look over there, it’s Grandpa and… the Angel!”, felt as though it would vanish like a mirage if he were to blink. This whole scene… it felt like a dream…

“White, my friend.”

“…Manteo.”

Having finished his duties, Manteo sat down next to him and spoke.

“Why are you sitting there in a daze? The food is getting cold.”

Startled, White looked up at the table. A great variety of dishes had been laid out. Smoked elk meat, chicken fried in oil, mashed potatoes, and even the simple dishes of the natives, made with beans and corn.

White picked up a chicken leg with his hand but could not bring himself to take a bite, placing it back down on his plate.

“Mr. White, is something the matter?”

And again, that gentle voice.

He turned his head and looked at the man seated at the head of the table. Behind him, a tree, its branches adorned with aluminum ornaments and candles, sparkled. It felt as if it were a halo from a sacred painting.

He raised his head and spoke.

“Mr. White, you seem sad for some reason. What is it?”

“Ah, Sir Nemo… it is nothing. I was just dozing off and dreamt of last Christmas.”

A time when he had believed in his heart that his daughter and granddaughter were already dead. A time when he had believed he was all alone in this world.

There had been such a time. And it was only last year.

“Mr. White? Are you all right?”

“…I am… fine. Truly… truly, I am fine, Sir Nemo.”

Unable to hold back his flowing tears, he finally bowed his head to Nemo and spoke.

“It is just… th-thank… thank you…”

“…”

“For saving my daughter… for making my dream come true…”

Pat.

His three-year-old granddaughter, Virginia, patted her weeping grandfather’s back.

At his words, Nemo closed his eyes for a moment and recalled. The life of John White, written in the game booklet.

-‘…In 1593, three years after returning from his voyage without seeing his daughter and granddaughter again, he dies a lonely death.’

At least, Nemo thought, I was glad I could amend that last sentence.

White wiped away his tears, and the banquet continued. The next day, and the day after that. Because it was Christmas.

***

“Glory to Her Majesty the Queen!”

“God bless England!”

“Blessings!”

The Christmas festivities do not end on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. A week after Christmas comes New Year’s Day, and five days after that comes the Epiphany[2]. On New Year’s Day, the king and nobles would exchange gifts and perform complex political rituals, and until the Epiphany arrived, all labor would cease as they laughed and reveled.

And this New Year’s, in the year 1591, there was one more thing to laugh and talk about.

“…Sir Walter Raleigh is still nowhere to be seen.”

“I heard he went to America. The fool is finally going bankrupt from his obsession with exploration.”

“That is delightful news to hear! Won’t you have another piece of this pie?”

The disappearance of Sir Raleigh. The void left by the man who had strutted about high society like a magnificent peacock was by no means small. The Queen showed a noticeable displeasure, and by her side, her other lover, the Royal Earl of Essex, Robert Devereux, constantly showered her with flattery.

However, the Queen was growing tired of the sheep’s tongue and the cow’s udder dishes. She was even growing weary of her nights with the handsome Earl of Essex. The Queen knew the reason why.

“…Walt.”

Flinch.

The Earl of Essex’s face hardened slightly at the name, but the Queen paid him no mind. Walter Raleigh had dared to abandon the Christmas feast, to ignore his duties as Captain of the Queen’s Guard, and to run off across the Atlantic. The annoyance and worry over that fact creased her brow.

“Your Majesty, your beautiful brow is fraught with tension. I worry that your heart may be darkened by that scoundre—”

“I am fine. I am quite fine.”

“Your Majesty, I…”

“…”

“…”

Everything was annoying. Walter Raleigh leaving like this during the Christmas season, the Earl of Essex constantly whispering jealous words in her ear, and Raleigh choosing to take a dangerous path instead of asking her for financial assistance. She did not wish to speak anymore.

The tense exchange was heard by all who, even amidst the noise, were listening for the Queen’s voice. And so, as everyone began to watch the Queen and lower their voices, a member of the Royal Guard rushed in, bowed his head before the Queen, and announced.

“Sir Walter Raleigh enters the court!”

Spring!

“That scoundrel, how dare he…”

“Calm yourself, Earl of Essex.”

“…”

“…And everyone else here should calm themselves as well. He has crossed the Atlantic to fulfill his noble duty of expanding my domains and spreading the Christian faith… though it is not known if he has succeeded.”

Everyone froze at the Queen’s venomous words.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Soon, an explorer, his magnificent clothes rustling, his beautiful mustache on full display, strode across the center of the court. He shot a slight sneer at the Earl of Essex by the Queen’s side and stood before her.

“Your Majesty’s loyal servant has returned from the New World.”

And he bowed with a delicate manner and grace unbefitting an Anglo-Saxon. He was, indeed, the man who had captured the Queen’s heart with nothing but his face and his tongue, without any background to speak of.

“Hmm… Sir Raleigh? Did you have a good trip to the Virginia colony?”

But the Queen’s reaction was lukewarm.

“My sources tell me your colony has suffered a disastrous failure at the hands of the Spanish. It is truly a pity. Fortunately, you are the Captain of my Royal Guard, so you will not suffer any further hardship.”

→‘Your colony has failed, so what were you doing gallivanting about? If you had just stayed here and acted cute, I would have taken care of you.’

As he heard the interpretation of the Queen’s words, a slight tension came and went on Raleigh’s face. He had expected such a light reprimand. And then.

“Failure… you say? Your Majesty, it seems the English language has changed a bit while I was away across the Atlantic.”

“Hmm?”

Snap.

At the snap of Sir Raleigh’s fingers, the workmen who had appeared from behind him began to move a series of boxes.

Click.

And when Raleigh himself threw open the boxes placed before the Queen, a gasp rippled through the crowd. Countless pearls and corals sparkled, reflecting the light of the chandeliers in every direction.

Click.

Another box was opened. Inside, layer upon layer of beautiful furs from foxes and other beasts were stacked.

“Your Majesty! How can the word ‘failure’ be fitting for a colony that has brought back such precious treasures?”

“…Walt!”

“And there are more gifts for my beautiful Queen.”

Click.

The third box was opened. Another gasp followed.

“Is this… silver? Or platinum?”

“Oh, Your Majesty.”

Raleigh, who had discreetly approached the Queen’s side, whispered as he slipped a ring onto her finger.

“If it were something so trivial, would I have placed it on your finger like this?”

It was a ring set with a brilliantly cut ruby, with a mysterious inscription engraved inside.

“Behold. This ring, crafted with a skill that no European artisan could imitate, is, surprisingly, not the product of our colonists!”

“Good heavens… you mean it is the work of a savage?”

“With the skill to make such a thing, one could hardly call them a savage. Let us just say we had a ‘local collaborator,’ my Queen.”

“And so… what is the name of this metal? It is so light… and beautiful…”

Sir Raleigh smiled his signature smile, the one that had charmed the Queen and countless other women, and said.

“It is called aluminum, Your Majesty.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…Aluminum, aluminum. It has a beautiful luster. And such lightness.”

“It is like the orichalcum of legend, is it not? Harder than iron, more precious than gold, and as light as a feather. But that is not all.”

That is not all…?

There were no more looks of contempt and jealousy directed at Raleigh. Like an audience marveling at a magician, looks of pure admiration and wonder were fixed on Sir Raleigh and the final box.

Before opening it, Walter Raleigh, his face full of pride, exclaimed.

“I was fortunate! If the season in which I transported ‘this’ had not been winter! And if my captain and navigator had been less skilled and had delayed us further! I would not have been able to bring this precious gift to Your Majesty the Queen!”

At his words, everyone’s attention was focused. This was the great bon vivant speaking. What could the final gift possibly be? A mysterious beast? Another precious metal? Jewels? Or an eye-popping amount of gold?

Fling!

And when the final box was opened, a look of bewilderment filled everyone’s eyes. Inside was another box. A pure white box.

“This box, too, is a product of the foreigners’ amazing wisdom and technology, extremely light, yet able to safely transport the delicate contents within. And the item inside is…”

When Sir Raleigh opened that box, this time, no one could hide their disappointment.

Inside was… just a bunch of grapes.

They were especially luscious-looking, their color translucent, and each berry was enormous, but… just grapes.

The Queen of England herself shot him a look, as if to say, You made such a fuss over this? But Raleigh, unfazed, presented the grapes to the Queen.

“This is a fruit that the savages hold most precious. My trusted explorer, John White, says he obtained it by pleading with a noble ‘local collaborator.’ I suspect he may be a great king or emperor of the region.”

“Hmm…”

Pluck.

“They have been washed beforehand, so you may simply eat them.”

Plucking a single berry, Raleigh placed it in the Queen’s palm. The Queen, with a displeased expression, glared at the grape, then popped it into her mouth and rolled it around. And then…

Crunch.

“…”

“…”

“…”

Silence fell.

Thump!

“Th-this paltry grape! What a vulgar temperament… You return after worrying Her Majesty the Queen, and all you have to offer is this pathetic grape?”

“Calm yourself, Earl of Essex. If you are jealous, just say you are jealous. And if you want to eat this grape, just say you want to eat it.”

“Hmph! As if I would want this paltry grape. Give it here! This paltry… this… paltry…”

Pop.

“…”

“…”

“…”

Another silence. Everyone watched the Queen and the Earl of Essex with bated breath, suspecting that the mad Sir Raleigh might have poisoned the Queen.

And then…

“Ah, ahh… L-Lord, my God…!”

“Uwooo… uwoooooo…!”

As the Earl of Essex plucked another grape, the Queen, as if not to be outdone, plucked two and put them in her mouth. The Lord Keeper of the Great Seal and Lord High Treasurer, William Cecil[3], and the Secretary of State, Francis Walsingham, unable to contain their curiosity, also came over and popped a grape each into their mouths.

And then.

“Ooh, oh… ooooooh!”

“Uwah… uwaooh… th-this is…!”

“The other sailors who have tasted this say that this grape is… like a fruit cultivated by an angel.”

January 6, 1591, the Epiphany.

The fifth monarch of the Tudor dynasty. The great Queen of England and Ireland. It was the day the ‘Virgin Queen,’ Elizabeth I, tasted a Shine Muscat grape for the first time.