Chapter 101

The order from King Philip III of Spain was immediately relayed to the Council of the Indies (Consejo de las Indias), the most important administrative body wielding authority over the Spanish Americas.

The council’s judgment on the royal command was swift.

It was “Nonsense.”

Or, to be more precise:

“Utter bullshit! How in God’s name are we supposed to capture the Queen!”

That was the true sentiment.

The Council of the Indies and its subordinate officials all screamed in unison. Even to an observer completely ignorant of the situation in the American colonies, the order was clearly foolish. To these men, however, it was nothing short of a catastrophic decision.

Outsiders might only see the complex web of international diplomacy surrounding Queen Elizabeth and the internal political strife within England.

But the council possessed detailed maps and exploratory records of the area near Roanoke Island, where Queen Elizabeth was residing. Their conclusion, therefore, was brutally clear.

“Sending soldiers to Roanoke Island now is no different from sending them to their deaths.”

Setting all else aside, the very geography of Roanoke Island made it an exceedingly difficult target. Nestled within Pamlico Sound, the island was protected by a labyrinth of complex rapids and treacherous reefs, and it was further encircled by a barrier of other islands that formed a natural fortress.

If it was this difficult merely to make landfall, what would happen when one factored in the soldiers and defensive fortifications said to be stationed there, monitoring and defending it at all times?

The difficulty of an assault would not just increase; it would skyrocket exponentially.

In other words, far from capturing the Queen, the likelihood of wasting a staggering number of soldiers and warships for absolutely nothing was high.

“But what choice do we have? It is a royal command. An order from the most noble and highest authority in this kingdom. We cannot disobey.”

“True, we cannot disobey. But wasn’t this council established to advise His Majesty? Surely we can at least try to persuade him.”

“We already failed.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

The situation was grim.

They had already concluded that a military assault on Virginia was ‘functionally impossible without a significant mobilization of troops.’ To execute the King’s direct command under such conditions?

They would have to brace themselves for astronomical, unacceptable losses of life and property.

That simply could not happen.

“For now, we must appear to obey His Majesty’s command, but we must approach it differently. The probability of success is nonexistent, so rather than focusing on the objective itself, we must first consider how to demonstrate our good faith.”

In the end, the objective of ‘capturing the Queen’ was doomed from the start. Failure was a foregone conclusion.

Instead, they set a new objective, one that would serve as a crucial excuse to save face with the King. Essentially, they needed a ‘secondary achievement’ they could present—something that would allow them to say, ‘We all fought valiantly, but we failed to capture the Queen of England this time. However, we did achieve these other results…’

It didn’t take them long to figure out what that should be.

“For now, our focus must be on checking the Virginia colony and stifling its growth.”

“Everyone, be on your guard. What we discuss now must not leave this room.”

The meetings continued for weeks.

Finally, they reached a conclusion.

The council’s new orders were dispatched to the Viceroyalty of New Spain.

***

N. E. M. O.

Elizabeth wrote the four letters on the paper, stared at them for a moment, and then chuckled softly.

“Nemo.”

A funny name.

“Did he receive a new name when he was baptized?”

“No, Your Majesty. I was told that was his original name.”

“Is that so? ‘No one.’ How peculiar. Truly, peculiar.”

Elizabeth stroked the side of her mouth, lost in thought. “My memory is failing me. What did you say the plan was moving forward?”

“Yes, first he will come to Roanoke Island personally to greet Your Majesty. After that, he will guide you to Chesapeake Bay, where the talks will formally begin.”

“And he’s lost his voice, I was told? So the conversation must be conducted through writing?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm, what a pity. A native who has mastered Latin and English… he must possess a formidable intellect,” Elizabeth mumbled this to herself before turning back to Margaret. “You’ve met the Emperor before, haven’t you?”

“Yes? Ah, yes, Your Majesty.”

“What was your impression? Tell me in detail—his attire, his demeanor.”

“…”

Margaret hesitated for a moment, as if searching for words, before speaking in a low, almost reciting tone.

“He is, difficult to describe.”

Ah, there it is again.

This wasn’t the first time she had asked this question. This native Emperor had been a vital ally in expanding her royal authority for the past decade. Naturally, she had tried to learn more about him, questioning both Margaret and Raleigh several times.

And every single time, the person she asked wore the exact same expression.

“Ah, He is, noble, and.”

That expression.

It was a look of pure, unadulterated reverence for something utterly incomprehensible. Their posture would unconsciously become respectful, their voices hushed, as if ‘he’ were standing right there, watching them.

—”The Emperor’s true identity is, probably!”

—”Probably?”

—”A sea monster.”

The sudden memory of that absurd conversation with Drake soured her mood. In the end, she only knew two things about this man called Nemo. That he exuded a ‘difficult to describe’ aura, and that he ‘might be a sea monster.’

…On second thought, it seemed she only knew one thing.

The Queen gently nudged Margaret, who still wore that faraway, dreamy expression.

“Ah, where was I?”

“You haven’t said anything at all, aside from him being ‘noble.’ Ugh, fine.” Elizabeth sighed. “Just tell me about his attire. He doesn’t walk around naked like the other natives, does he?”

“…”

“Why the hesitation? Does he walk around half-naked?”

“Ah, no! Not at all. It’s just.”

“Don’t tell me this is also ‘difficult to describe’?”

“It is. It’s very difficult to describe.”

“…”

“…”

It was always like this, and it was utterly bewildering.

They were right near the harbor of Chesapeake Bay. She was about to meet the Emperor at any moment. And yet, she still knew nothing about him, all thanks to the bizarre, reverent paralysis that struck people whenever she asked.

Elizabeth sighed and pressed her fingers to her forehead.

“Fine. If his aura and his clothes are impossible to describe, so be it. At least you can tell me what he looks like. That can’t be difficult to describe, can it?”

“Ah, n-no, of course! He has… slightly curly black hair and dark, chestnut-colored eyes.”

Margaret stood and stretched her arm high above her head. “And he’s this tall!”

“An absolute giant, then.”

“Yes! And his skin is clear, his build is lean but muscular.”

“What about a beard?”

“Hm? Ah, he doesn’t have one. Honestly, if he were shorter, you might even mistake him for a boy.”

“Mistake him for a boy? How old is the Emperor, exactly?”

“Err… that is.”

“…”

“…”

“I believe he’s probably in his twenties.”

“Which means he was a teenager when you first met him?”

As soon as she tossed out the casual, logical question, Margaret suddenly clammed up, hesitating and fidgeting. I mean, if he’s in his twenties now, he would have been a teenager a decade ago. Isn’t that obvious?

“Well, on second thought, it’s possible he’s in his thirties.”

I swear, I have no idea what she actually knows.

Just as an awkward silence descended, someone knocked on the cabin door. When the two women went outside and stepped onto the main deck, the ship was a hive of activity.

As she approached the railing, she saw thousands of people thronging the harbor.

A single man emerged from the crowd, stepped onto the gangplank, and stopped right in front of Elizabeth.

“Walter.”

“Your Majesty.”

It was Raleigh.

Margaret had already slipped away from her side, hopping nimbly onto the gangplank and disappearing into the crowd. In the distance, Elizabeth could see people greeting her warmly. Now that the two were alone, Raleigh bowed deeply to his Queen.

“Let us go. ‘He’ is waiting.”

“Yes. The man called ‘Nemo.’”

“Yes, Lord Nemo is waiting.”

“A fascinating name, isn’t it? Like Odysseus trying to trick Polyphemus. I rather hope I don’t enter his chambers only for him to poke out my eye and tell me his real name.” She chuckled softly at her own classical joke. But when she looked at her paramour’s face…

“…”

“Walter?”

His expression had hardened, just for a moment, in a way she couldn’t place. He held the silence, then, as if realizing his mistake, his face softened back into a gentle, familiar smile.

“You shouldn’t laugh, Your Majesty. You can see his humility in that name, can’t you?”

“Humility?”

“Yes. The natives here often change their names. He must have named himself so to remain as nothing, as no one, before the Lord.”

“Hm?”

—”Did he receive a new name when he was baptized?” 

—”No. I was told that was his original name.”

“Is something wrong?”

Raleigh’s words brought to mind the conversation she’d just had with Margaret in the cabin.

“I heard from Margaret that ‘Nemo’ was his original name… and that its overlap with the Latin was merely a coincidence.”

“…”

“Walter?”

“Margaret must have been mistaken, Your Majesty. As far as I know, he chose that name in his desire to draw closer to the Lord.”

How truly strange.

His age, the origin of his name… nothing about him was certain.

As the Queen stepped off the gangplank, her head tilted in confusion, native soldiers pushed the onlookers back. The English settlers cheered, waving their hands toward her, while others simply stared, their eyes wide with curiosity. The Queen and Raleigh walked the path cleared by the soldiers, cutting through the vast crowd.

Once they climbed into a carriage and began to move, the throng of people gradually fell behind. The village of green-roofed houses slowly receded, giving way to neatly gridded fields of farmland.

Elizabeth turned to Raleigh, who sat beside her. “Did you say we were going to a cathedral?”

“To be precise, Your Majesty, we are going to where the cathedral is being built.”

“It’s still under construction?”

“Yes. We are importing materials from England and France. Besides that, many are sparing no effort, offering donations and service. Look!” He pointed out the window. “Those fields over there belong to the English. All that vast land was granted by him, without any cost. The wheat and potatoes from there feed the poor in England!”

“It seems what was written in the proclamation was true, then.”

She listened to more explanations about this community until the carriage finally stopped in front of the construction site. Raleigh quietly opened the carriage door, helping her disembark.

Beyond the open door, she could see a long hallway covered in animal furs. Long benches were arranged on either side, giving it the appearance of a makeshift chapel. It was still small, and the roof wasn’t even finished—she could see the open sky above—but the space inside was packed with people.

Upon seeing Elizabeth, they all rose hurriedly and offered her a clumsy, awkward bow.

The shoddiness of their protocol reminded Elizabeth of what Raleigh had just told her: that here, anyone could become a council member, regardless of status. These people gathered here were the ‘councilors’ who led this community. This was their ‘Council.’

And beyond those councilors, at the far end of the hall, was a dais. A single person stood upon it. Her old eyes, from this distance, could only make out the man’s blurry outline.

Even so, Elizabeth had a very good idea of who he was.

As she followed Raleigh’s guidance, drawing closer to the dais, the blurry image sharpened.

Slightly curly black hair. Dark chestnut eyes. A clean-shaven… Boyish face.

The moment she saw that face, Elizabeth faltered.

His gaze held a composure as deep and still as stone. His firmly set mouth and straight nose cemented an impression of serene, solid resolve. He exuded the unique, unruffled patience of one who has lived through long stretches of time.

And all of it was in perfect, stark contrast to his youthful, almost boyish face. The bizarre, jarring sensation made Elizabeth pause, flustered, and she glanced around.

Looking closer, she saw that everyone here was holding bread and wine.

She realized it must be Sunday. The Emperor, having distributed the bread and wine to everyone, offered them to the Queen as well.

Elizabeth, of course, refused.

She was the head of the Anglican Church. She could not receive the sacrament from one who had not been ordained within her own church. Fortunately, the Emperor seemed to feel no offense at the refusal. He came down from the dais and shared the bread and wine with everyone else before finally approaching her.

Meanwhile, Walter Raleigh stepped forward in his capacity as the Queen’s subject and announced:

“Her Majesty Elizabeth, rightful Queen of England, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, has visited the territory of Lord Nemo, sovereign of the Virginia Commonwealth.”

In response, the Emperor smiled and bowed his head slightly. He gestured, and a woman next to him brought him a notebook. It was a woman she recognized. Eleanor.

The Emperor scribbled something on the notebook and handed it to Eleanor. Eleanor then spoke, acting as the Emperor’s voice.

“’Our Commonwealth welcomes the Queen of England, France, and Ireland.’”

At that, all the councilors gathered in the hall bowed to Elizabeth simultaneously. Elizabeth glanced around and then spoke, “Emperor, I was told this cathedral is still under construction. Is this a temporary chapel?”

At her words, the Emperor nodded and wrote again. Eleanor stumbled slightly as she read the new message, translating.

“That is correct. The Commonwealth plans to gradually expand the chapel from this central point, adding places for the choir and… but it is a humble sight to show you for now.”

He looked around the small space, hemmed in by brick walls, and bowed his head slightly as if embarrassed. He nodded again and gestured quietly. The councilors all immediately filed out, emptying the chapel in a rush. Soon, only four remained: the Emperor, Eleanor, the Queen, and Raleigh.

The Emperor found a suitable spot and sat, prompting the Queen to settle onto one of the nearby long benches. The Emperor wrote something earnestly, then tore the page out and handed it to the Queen.

‘O Queen of England, I heard you wished to see me. You must have endured great hardship on Roanoke Island while I was ill and unable to act.’

“Not at all. I am simply grateful you invited me, even if it is late. This is a cozy place.”

As Elizabeth looked around, the Emperor smiled again and wrote.

‘We had no other suitable place to host you. We do not have many spaces of such dignity.’

In other words, this place had no palace or mansion larger than this.

Elizabeth was taken aback. “But, from what I’ve heard, your Empire is vast, and your wealth is nigh-infinite. Are you saying you have no palace of your own?”

To that, the Emperor simply shook his head.

He had no palace of his own.

“Isn’t that dangerous? What if someone threatens you.”

At that, the Emperor just smiled faintly again and handed her another note.

‘Our Commonwealth is safe.’

Such unconditional faith. A bitter laugh almost escaped the Queen’s lips. Then again, she thought, didn’t someone with the grandest palace in Europe just flee across the Atlantic, chased by treason? Perhaps, if you truly trusted your people, and if your authority was absolute, you didn’t need palaces and guards.

‘Of course, that is our story. The Commonwealth has prepared separate lodgings for you, so please rest assured. It is right next door.’

“Right… next door?”

“This way, Your Majesty.”

At the Queen’s question, Raleigh stood and gestured for her to follow. The Queen, feeling bewildered, followed him, her first, brief meeting with the Emperor concluded.

Following Raleigh, she found that, indeed, there was a rather large brick manor built right next to the cathedral site.

“As I mentioned, the cathedral is still under construction. We managed to complete this section to serve as your residence, Your Majesty, upon hearing of your arrival.”

“Is that so? And the Emperor truly has no palace of his own?”

“Yes, that is correct. When he stays in Chesapeake, he lives in a house similar to any of the other citizens.”

“He sounds like some benevolent king from an old fairy tale.”

Elizabeth said it as a jest, and Raleigh… smiled back as he replied.

“I think so too.”

Raleigh stood at the door, glancing around quietly with a smile. “If you find anything uncomfortable, please ring the bell here. Attendants are standing by and will bring you whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Walter.”

Screech. Thud.

The door closed.

Elizabeth, her old and weary body, threw herself onto the bed and sank into thought.

…What a bizarre meeting.

Meeting in a cathedral was likely an attempt to emphasize his status as a Christian monarch. Gathering the councilors was a way of displaying his power. Beyond that, there was nothing particularly noteworthy.

And yet, the Queen frowned, unable to shake a persistent thought.

‘I feel like I’ve missed something.’

She didn’t know. The Queen shook her head and surveyed the room. In stark contrast to the rough, simple exterior, the room was filled with all manner of luxurious furniture and goods. The Queen idly approached an ebony table and picked up a bottle of wine.

She was thirsty. She opened the lid and went to pour it into a glass, but,

‘Wine.’

…A cold, sharp thought suddenly pierced her spine. The Queen quickly put the glass down and rang the bell Raleigh had mentioned.

A few moments later, a servant opened the door. The Queen asked him urgently, “You, answer me what you know.”

“What is it you wish to know, Your Majesty.”

“The people gathered in the chapel with the Emperor just now, were they the councilors of the Council?”

“Y-Yes, they were.”

The Queen’s face hardened. She sent the servant out again, closed the door, and replayed the scene in her mind. In the cathedral, the councilors who governed Virginia were gathered. And among the murmuring voices she’d heard, there was unmistakably English and Spanish.

Englishmen and Spaniards, serving together as councilors.

And to them, to all of them, Nemo had distributed bread and wine. Even to Raleigh.

Some might not have drunk the wine, some might have taken both, but the conclusion was the same.

They had all performed the sacrament with the bread and wine Nemo distributed.

A horrifying possibility flashed through the Queen’s mind. She threw the door open again, grabbed the servant, and demanded, “Isn’t the Emperor here an Anglican? Why would he personally distribute the Holy Blood and Body to Catholics and Puritans? He’s not even a priest! Or is he a Puritan?”

At that, the servant, who was clearly English, looked at her. “Pardon, Your Majesty? ‘Emperor’? You mean Lord Nemo?” He tilted his head as if he didn’t understand the question, then clapped his hands in sudden realization.

“Ah, he doesn’t belong to any sect!”

“What?”

“He sometimes acts as a priest for the people of the Commonwealth, distributing the Holy Blood and Body. If that’s what you mean, it’s, well, it’s an event everyone participates in, whether they’re Catholic or Anglican or.”

That’s absurd.

Catholics were the sort of people who would rather die than receive communion from anyone other than a Catholic priest. Puritans were the sort who would choose to be burned at the stake rather than share communion with Catholics, let alone recognize this Emperor as their ‘priest.’

How How did he?

The Emperor’s boyish face flickered in her mind’s eye.

That mineral-like calm in his gaze, the serene, solid impression from his firmly set mouth and straight nose, the unique, unruffled patience of one who has lived an eternity.

That was what bound the Catholics, Puritans, and Anglicans of this community together.

That was why Englishmen listened to his voice and African Catholics followed his gesture.

She had met countless monarchs in her time. She had met countless priests and bishops.

He was neither.

It had been a brief, strange meeting, but of this she was certain.

Like Abraham or Moses, he led his people.

He was… like… yes.

He was a shepherd, leading the flock of Virginia.