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A Most Brave Device © Steven R. Southard London , 1623 : “Gently now, don't pull too hard,” Cornelius Drebbel called to Lambren, his assistant on the pier. Yanking on the hemp line with all his might, Lambren pulled Cornelius' unusual craft into the pier piling with a most resounding thud. Cornelius rolled his eyes at the sound of groans and complaints from the passengers within. “Thou half-wit oaf!” Cornelius yelled, convinced that he'd over-credited Lambren by at least one-quarter wit. “My fist shall know if thy nose is as tender as my boat's!” Lambren, he thought, overcompensated for his impressive bodily strength with even more pronounced mental weakness. “Now tie that end of the rope to the piling and gently set the gangway up.” “ Most sincere regrets, suh,” Lambren said, as usual, as if this could excuse any sort of incompetence. Despite Lambren's further botched efforts, the work of mooring Cornelius' craft to the pier and positioning the wooden walkway filled just two minutes. The vessel itself resembled nothing more than the hulls of two boats positioned one atop the other, clamshell-fashion, with their edges sealed. Sewed goatskin leather covered the whole affair, with tar sealing the sewed seams. Eight oars projected outward from each side through small holes, similarly sealed and made flexible by goat hide. Three square glass windows allowed occupants to see, one being at the bow, and two amidships on either side between the third and fourth pair of oars. Cornelius Drebbel may have commanded the ugliest vessel to ever disgrace the Thames , but it was surely the only one ever to return to the surface after sinking. Passengers began exiting from a square topside hatch. Cornelius smoothed his unruly gray hair and pointed beard prior to seeing them off. The finest personages that London could boast passed through the opening--the upper crust, the high-born, the noble, the gentry. Some barely squeezed their blubber filled bulk through the hatch. One vomited down the slope of the hull and into the river, bothering Cornelius less than the one who had expelled his breakfast into the craft's bilge earlier. Only two of them thanked Cornelius on their way off the boat. Pumping Cornelius' hand with a vigor belying his 71 years, Sir Edward Coke's head bobbed as he gushed, “An astounding invention! My compliments, indeed. The very notion that we traveled underneath the water, and yet I remain as dry as...well, as dry as the King's cash coffers!” He laughed and nudged Cornelius' ribs. Cornelius smiled, unable to bring himself to laugh. As the King's Court Inventor, he found himself unamused by japes about the monarch's shaky finances. The Bishop of Gloucester, Godfrey Goodman, arose from the open hatch wearing his crimson vestments. He bowed and put his hands together in prayer before shaking Cornelius' hand. “Bless thee sir. 'Twas a most inspiring tour, to witness first-hand the wonders of Our Lord's underwater realm. Mayest thee travel in peace, in the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ.” Cornelius bowed. “Thank ye, your Grace.” As this last passenger disembarked, Lambren walked up to Cornelius and said, “Sir, a messenger said ye must report to His Majesty straightaway.” Cornelius stared at the man, dumbfounded, as anger welled up. “And why didst thou not let even more minutes slip by before so casually revealing that morsel of idle news?” “Because, sir, the messenger—“ “Never mind, thou dolt!” Cornelius shouted at him. “Pay the oarsmen their wages.” He thrust a pouch of coins at Lambren. “Then inspect the bow area for damages, and report to me upon my return.” As Cornelius hastened off to the Tower of London , Lambren's “ Most sincere regrets, suh” echoed off the stone walls. # I wonder what the King wants , Cornelius thought as he hurried along the path. Perhaps the perpetual motion clock I made has stopped and His Majesty needs me to restart it . As Court Inventor, Cornelius enjoyed constructing contrivances such as clocks, microscopes, thermostats, fireworks, and submerging boats. Widely known for his intellectual dexterity, he delighted in solving problems others found bedeviling, if not impossible. Or perhaps I'm to be fired ? Cornelius' face took on a worried frown as he half-trotted along beside the white and tan stone walls. The King's funds lessened daily, along with his ability to pay so many court attendants. Only Parliament could raise taxes, and the King had angered most members of both Houses. Cornelius arrived at the White Tower . The Yeoman Warder standing guard, clad in his gold and scarlet uniform, admitted the Court Inventor on sight. Inside, Cornelius entered the Tournament Room with its displays of war armor through the ages. “Drebbel's in treble the trouble!” sang a melodious male voice. Cornelius groaned as the King's court jester sprang from an alcove and danced alongside him. Archibald Armstrong, with his unending smile and ever-laughing eyes, wore a tight-fitting costume decorated in triangles of red, brown, and white. His hat bore the same pattern, and contained three tassels that flopped about with little bells tinkling at each end. Armstrong held not one, but two marottes, one in each hand. From the end of each marotte's stick emerged a wooden likeness of the jester's head, complete with miniature hats and bells like Armstrong's own. From one sort of fool , Cornelius thought of Lambren, to another. Which is worse ? “Good day, Jester,” he said. “I canst talk with thee now, for I'm summoned—“ “—by the King. We know.” The voice seemed to issue from Armstrong's right-hand marotte. Cornelius had not seen the jester's mouth move at all. He'd long meant to discover Armstrong's trick in performing this stunt, but had never followed through. Still, there was something he had to ask Armstrong. “What art thou doing about, Jester? Weren't thou with the Prince and Duke in Spain ?” The so-called “Spanish Match” had dominated London conversations for months. The King, desperate for cash, yearned to have his son, the eligible Prince Charles, marry Princess Maria Anna of Spain . At a single stroke, this would forge a strong alliance to oppose France , mollify angry English Roman Catholics, and provide the throne with a dowry worth £600,000. Diplomats had been negotiating the delicate agreement for some time, and to finalize the bond, both Prince Charles and George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham, had journeyed to Madrid , along with a delegation that included the jester. Cornelius had heard no word that the contingent had yet returned. “We were in Spain --” said the left marotte. “—-but in the main-—“ said the right marotte. “—-we found it plain,” said Armstrong. “We returned in a carriage far more fleet than that of the Prince and Duke.” He giggled as if finding this amusing. “But what news dost thou bring of the Match ?” Cornelius wanted to be the first to hear. “We shall refrain—-“ “—Nay, more, abstain—“ “—and mum remain.” “If thou bringest no news, Jester, then off with thee, for I've no time to squander on thy like.” Cornelius had never understood the King's toleration of Archibald Armstrong's nonsensical prattling. They entered the adjacent room, containing hunting and sporting weapons. Cornelius marched with hurried determination; Armstrong remained nearby and danced, his bells tinkling, among the displays of crossbows, harquebuses, wheel-lock muskets, and rifles. “He's got time to fiddle—“ said Armstrong. “—so, thou, in the middle—“ said the right marotte. “—tell him of our riddle,” finished the left marotte. “Methinks I shall,” said Armstrong. “The riddle proceeds thus—“
The jester appeared unfazed by Cornelius' entreaty. “Any riddle's too tough—“ “—when one's not smart enough—“ “—lacks the right mental stu—“
“Confound it!” Cornelius hated how the jester played on his own enthrallment with puzzles and intellectual exercises. Wearied by the climb, he spoke in gasping pants. “Tellest me. Thy bloody riddle. So I may answer. And be done with thee.” The jester seemed as unaffected by the steep stairs as by Cornelius' condescension. “'Tis simply this: Which of these wieldeth more power, the worm, the robin, or the falcon?” Cornelius' lip curled in derision as they reached the uppermost story of the palace. He paused to catch his breath. “That be no riddle. The falcon is the more powerful.” “Ah, but if the falcon be dead, the worm feedeth on his remains, and thereby be the stronger,” said Armstrong.
“And the robin eats the worm,” said the left marotte.
”And falcon eats robin,” said the right marotte. Cornelius' footsteps and the jester's bells echoed along the stone corridor as they walked. “Likewise round the other way,” said Armstrong. “The worm mayest claim some power o'er the robin, since the robin dies without enough worms to feed upon.” “And falcon dies without enough robins,” the right marotte said. “And worm without enough dead falcons,” the left marotte finished. Cornelius' head spun. “Hold, Jester. Thou never claimed the falcon was dead.” “Nor didst I claim it lived.” “'Tis preposterous! How can thy falcon be at once alive enough to eat a robin, and dead enough to be eaten by a worm?” “Perhaps it be half dead.” “Half dead!” Cornelius snorted. He felt relief at finally reaching the door to the King's chamber. “Thou hast contrived a riddle truly worthy of a fool. Now I bid you good-bye, Jester.” Armstrong danced down the corridor, bells jangling, marottes waving. “Around your mind revolve it—“ “—the answer ye'll evolve it—“ “—Our riddle ye shall solve it!” The pathetic ravings of an imbecile , Cornelius thought as he smoothed down his hair. The King's guards opened the door. # “Aye, Drebbel. Come in, come in,” spoke King James I of England , who also reigned as James VI of Scotland . Though Cornelius' senior by only six years, the King appeared much older, his once-reddish hair now completely gray, his posture stooped, his legs--where visible beneath the hem of his kilt--hairless and blue-veined. Over the many years that Cornelius had served him, the King had become more and more forgetful and distracted. Only his brown eyes retained their youthful keenness. His hands gripped a wooden-shafted golf club and he idly swung it in a narrow arc. Three attendants stood against one wall, awaiting instructions. “Ye're looking gay, Your Highness,” Cornelius said after bowing low, still unsure if he was to be fired. During their long association, and especially lately, the King had seemed to trust Cornelius, even sharing political information and seeking the inventor's advice. But given the monarch's capricious nature, that could end at any instant. “A'coorse I'm gay,” the King had never lost his Scottish brogue. “I'm aboot to play at golf. ‘Tis a bonny game; it helps me forget me troubles.” Cornelius hoped that the termination of his own employment did not number among the King's troubles. “Aye, when I'm out there a'givin' me ball a whack, I forget all aboot the problems of being King.” The sovereign's eyes clouded and his shoulders sagged. “I tell ye, truly, ‘divine right' brings divine responsibility along wi' it. Ach, the cursed Parliament's agin' me, and won't raise the bloody revenue I need to run a government. Both religions are agin' me too, e'en though I try to maintain a balance ‘twixt them.” “With greatest respect, Your Highness, I doubt—“ “There's nae doot. Protestants kidnapped me, then Guy Fawkes and his Roman Catholics tried to bring doon a building with me in't. I'm a pious man, Drebbel, but at times I woonder if the warld deserves that book.” King James pointed his golf club at a pedestal, on which lay the English language Bible that he had commissioned. “Those events are past, Sire. Naught but a memory.” “Perhaps ye're right, Drebbel, but I canna help but suspect that e'en noo the Parliament plots agin' me, and the Protestants too. Perhaps they've joined as one flock, and hatch their schemes together.” He glanced at his attendants as if they might be part of the conspiracy, then made his way over to an open window. The King looked so dejected that Cornelius struggled to think of something to cheer him up. He knew that the monarch would, at some point, come around to the reason for his summons, but thought it best to have His Highness in a better mood when he did. “Hast ye harkened any word of the Prince's return, Sire?” Cornelius was unsure if he should mention his encounter with the jester. What had Armstrong said, something about returning in a carriage far more fleet than that of the Prince and Duke ? “Nay, but I expect both Duke and Prince to return anon, perhaps e'en this day or the morrow.” The King's countenance brightened with a smile, and he stared out the window at the town of London spread out before him. “Aye, an' ‘twill be Britain 's finest hour when young Charles weds that Spanish lass.” A piece of that dowry could pay my salary , Cornelius thought. “With eager heart I await that moment, Sire.” Unless I'm to be dismissed as your Court Inventor today . He glanced over at the shelf where sat his perpetual motion clock. It seemed in working order. With some trepidation, he asked, “If I'm not being unduly bold, Your Highness, why didst ye summon—“ “--Oh, aye.” The King turned away from the window. “I've heard tell of a boot ye've made to travel ‘neath the water like a fish, Drebbel.” “Yes, if it please you, Sire.” “Ben Johnson made mention of't in his new play. I enjoyed ‘The Staple of News' just the other night. What was that line? Aye, noo I recall the words—‘an invisible eel. A most brave device.'” “'Twas a kind tribute by Mr. Johnson, Your Highness. Thank ye for the mention of't.” “I'm also aware,” the King lowered his voice, “that ye hast allowed certain noblemen to ride aboard this machine.” “In absolute safety, Sire. I wouldst ne'er endanger a gentleman's life.” “On that I shall depend. Drebbel, I've a notion.” # Late that night, while most of London slept, Cornelius' odd craft moved in its jerky, insect-like fashion one fathom beneath the waters of the Thames . Three pairs of oars swished backwards in unison, propelling the boat, and then each oar paddle folded into a streamlined shape for its forward stroke, there to unfold once more for its backward sweep. “Aye, Drebbel, ‘tis a bonny way to travel.” King James sat, beaming, on a bench up forward with Cornelius while the oarsmen rowed behind them. The glow of the single candle sufficed for Cornelius to see with satisfaction that few water leaks penetrated through the outer layer of greased goatskin and past the gaps between the rough-hewn wooden hull planking. He'd long grown accustomed to the smell of burning tallow and human sweat. The King had explained to Cornelius how much he wanted to ride in the underwater boat, but how he dared not due to the uproar it would create among the people, especially his enemies. “They'd think me mad, a daft King,” he'd said. The notion of a clandestine trip at midnight , with the Court Inventor and the oarsmen sworn to secrecy, had been the monarch's. Cornelius had been pleased that, for the moment, he remained employed. “Ye've created something splendid here, Drebbel,” the King spoke low in Cornelius' ear, “and noo I'm the first King in history to ride in an underwater boot.” “Thank ye, Your Highness, but with your royal pardon, I wouldst once again attain the surface and return to the pier.” His brow furrowed with worry lines, Cornelius peered through the forward window, striving in vain to see through the ink-black water. “Why, we just noo got down here,” the King said. “Doona tell me ye be feared of some danger. Ye said yerself we'd be in absolute safety.” “Sire, only in day's light have I navigated this craft afore. At such times, the sun casts her beams e'en this far beneath the waves, so that I mayest guide her and avoid other ships.” “'Tis the middle o' the night, Drebbel,” the King laughed. “Of other ships, there be naught aboot.” With a loud, wooden thunk , the boat came to a sudden halt, pitching all its occupants forward. Cornelius and the King both got their hands up in time to avoid impacting their foreheads on the oak window framing. “Empty the ballast bladders!” Cornelius shouted. Each oarsman repositioned so as to lean on one of six wooden planks hinged at the sides of the hull. This forced water back out of sealed goatskin bladders situated behind the planks. After thus lightening the boat, the oarsmen locked the planks in place so water could not re-enter the bladders. In moments they all heard the gentle lap of waves against the upper parts of the hull. Once he had ensured that the collision had not caused any apparent leakage, Cornelius opened the hatch and clambered up. Thick fog surrounded him, a fog that swallowed his candle's light within a few scant yards, and grayed all color. The black water of the Thames flowed past in mild ripples that licked Cornelius' boat and glided on. Around them no ship appeared, no pier piling, no stone seawall, no obstacle at all. The King joined Cornelius, standing as far forward as he dared on the curved topside surface. He stared about in all directions. “What didst we strike, Drebbel? I canna see a thing.” “Alas, I knowest not, Your Highness.” Cornelius thought at first they might have grounded on a shoal. But he remembered hearing a loud thud from the bow area, not a grinding, sliding noise from the keel. He moved toward the open hatch so he could direct the oarsmen to turn right and make for the shore, when he heard the King shout. “Look!” He pointed to the water just to the left of the bow. The black liquid stirred, then parted to allow something to rise from beneath. Cornelius blinked in surprise, then stared again. Another underwater boat like his, though perhaps somewhat smaller, had risen up to join them. Nose against nose, the two small craft formed a stationary “V” in the water. The small size of the two craft, and the location of the hatches near the bow, left them well within sight of each other, despite the fog. A hatch on the other vessel opened, and two men emerged. The first, a slender young man with straight hair and the suggestion of a goatee, resembled the King in facial structure. Cornelius had barely tolerated the arrogant Prince Charles while tutoring the lad in his younger years. Something about the young man's pale, slimy-looking skin gave him a repulsive, subterranean appearance. The second man, though older, cut a more striking figure. His dark hair curled just so around a face chiseled into the very essence of British masculinity. Cornelius bowed to them, and they in turn bowed to the King. “By God, George, ‘tis bonny good to set eyes upon ye,” the King smiled as he addressed George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham . “Greetings, Father,” said the Prince. “Aye, boy, very good,” the King seemed to notice his son for the first time. “Noo then, Duke, didst ye bring the dow—I mean to say, conclude the negotiations?” “Conclude them?” the Duke repeated. “Yes, Sire, concluded indeed.” He reached into a leather satchel and removed some papers. “Negotiations are broken off, shattered, ended. King Philip tore the marriage contract asunder before our very faces, the same contract you already signed, Sire.” The Duke displayed the ripped fragments. The King gazed at him in shocked silence. Both the Duke and Prince looked angry, with clenched fists and scowling lips. Cornelius did not know what to say, or even think. “'Tis an insult to England herself!” the Duke said. “This affront must not stand with impunity. We shall declare war on Spain !” “No' unless I say't,” the King's voice took on a sharp edge. “There's nae sense in declaring war in anger or haste. I favor ye, Duke, but donna forget your place.” Then the King looked about, seeming to realize that their place was atop two submarine boats in a fogbank in the Thames in the middle of the night.
“Pray, George, how d'ye come to be in such a craft on such a night?”
“We disembarked from the Royal Navy galleon but a few miles downstream, Sire. We then we boarded this, your Inventor Drebbel's boat--“ the Duke began.
The King gave Cornelius a withering stare. Cornelius opened his mouth to explain when the Duke resumed.
“—and we thought it meet to arrive in secret at night since our mission, well—“
“—failed,” the King finished. “So ye be sneaking aboot to avoid me, an' all the while I'm sneaking aboot to avoid everyone else. An' by the oddest happenstance—“
A mild thump occurred, felt by all the men on both vessels. The four men standing atop the two craft managed to retain their balance only by hanging on to their partners.
“What, ho!” said the King. “The Thames o'erflows wi' shocks this night. Is't some sea-monster, or be we aground?”
“Methinks I know,” Cornelius said softly. And God protect me if I be right .
It astonished everyone except the Court Inventor when a disturbance roiled the water at the base of the “V” formed by the two vessels, and a third craft emerged there. Smaller than the other two, this boat sported only two oars, one on each side. It surfaced with its bow touching the other two.
“Confound it, Drebbel!” the King bellowed, as the craft's hatch opened. “How many of these infernal contraptions didst ye build?”
“These three only, Sire. But upon constructing each new vessel, I ordered the one previous dismantled. In this matter, ‘tis now clear I shouldst never have trusted my servant.”
A familiar voice rang from the open hatch of the newly arrived boat. “ Most sincere regrets, suh!” Its tone seemed wholly unburdened by sincerity or regret.
“Lambren, thou pusillanimous knave, thou fool-born apostate!” Cornelius shouted. “I shall dismantle thy bones as thou shouldst have that boat!”
While he spoke, two men exited the hatch on the new vessel and stood on its upper deck, neither one of them being Lambren, who likely manned one of the oars. Both bowed to the King, but not quite low enough for proper respect.
“Astounding invention, Drebbel!” said Sir Edward Coke, the prominent Member of Parliament, his head bobbing as he did so.
“Inspiring, indeed!” said Godfrey Goodman, the Bishop of Gloucester, resplendent in his bright red vestments.
“Together, Coke and Goodman?” The King stroked his beard. “Booth of ye aboard Drebbel's boot in the wee hours? There be only one reason for 't. Aye, ye be plotting to slay me, ‘tis sure. I'll hae booth your heads for this.”
“Unsevered shall our necks remain,” said the MP, without a hint of denying the King's accusation. “Wages for the axe-man hast ye none. And no taxes shall I raise to see my stature lowered thusly!”
“By what devil's brand of ‘divine right,'” asked the Bishop, “wouldst a monarch fell a man of God?”
“Thine insults to my blood I shalt not forget, Bishop,” said Prince Charles, his oily skin glistening white even in the dim light, “when I wield the scepter.”
“Stay, child,” said the Duke of Buckingham, “for behind thine ears ye wet still be. As for thee, Bishop,” the Duke spat the title like an insult, “A King's power's by God decreed. For thy disrespect, dearly shalt thou pay. If not by the King's order, then by mine own when—“
“—What when , Duke?” The King thundered. “A smidgen of power I grant ye, and noo ye're ripping the crown from me very head?”
Verbal barbs flew through the foggy night air. Tempers flashed. Feet stomped. Fists waved.
After several more minutes, Cornelius began to sense the situation's complexity and danger. None of them trusted another. All feared, and were feared by, the rest. The King dreaded the MP and Bishop for only the Bishop could sanction his assertion of divine right, and together they almost certainly plotted against him. The Bishop and MP sought to avoid angering the Duke and Prince since they represented future monarchical power and, upon the King's death, would be able to order executions on a whim. Both Prince and Duke craved the kingship and had reason to hope for it, the Prince by heirdom and the Duke by friendship. But each had displeased King James by botching the Spanish Match, and now worried that he might pass the royal scepter to another.
Further, the old King remained suspicious of the Duke's power-grabbing. Both Prince and Duke had reason to be wary of any partnership between the MP and Bishop, since one of them would, one day, depend on the Church and Parliament to recognize the divine right doctrine to stay in power. But the Bishop and MP faced a death sentence for their machinations against the King.
An unsolvable Gordian Knot , thought Cornelius, reeling from the problem's devilish complexity. Three factions stood deadlocked, each with some power--and reason to dread--the other two. Only some diabolically mischievous imp could have concocted such a baffling triangular conundrum. Despite his years of observing the bewildering political machinations of the King's court, it seemed to Cornelius that no single answer could satisfy all parties.
Or could one ?
“Your Highness,” Cornelius said, “if my boldness ye shalt forgive, an arrangement I'll propose.”
Arguments ceased. Five pairs of eyes regarded him. Only the gentle sloshing kiss of wavelets against the three hulls marred the silence.
“Speak then, Drebbel.” The King's brown, hawk-like eyes bore into him.
“Firstly,” Cornelius started, “Bishop Goodman and Sir Cook must abandon any plots against the King—“
“I'll not vow any such—“
“—and further, ye must support rule by divine right.”
“Madness be this!” the MP growled, though the Prince and Duke smiled.
“Prince Charles and Duke Villiers of Buckingham,” Cornelius continued, “ye must refrain from punishing the Bishop and MP once ye comest to power, whiche'er of ye may. And swear also that ye shalt leave the King to alone rule, for just so many years as God allowest him.”
“Well ye speak, Drebbel!” the King said.
“Forgive me, Sire, for more there be. Ye shouldst agree, Your Highness, to likewise spare the MP and Bishop from punishment. For failure of the Spanish Match, the Duke and Prince from blame ye shouldst excuse. On the matter of an alliance with France and war with Spain , ye shouldst think on't.”
The King fumed at these conditions, but the Prince, Duke, and MP brightened at the prospect of war with Catholic Spain, as did the Anglican Protestant Bishop.
“Lastly, agree must we all ne'er to tell a living soul of the events this night brought forth.” All about them, veiled layers of fog pulled apart, allowing a ray of moonlight to illumine the unusual tableau.
Listening to the liquid stillness, Cornelius waited with apprehension for their response.
“Aye, well spoke, Drebbel,” the King said, “yet one more matter awaits unsettled. It's these underwater devices that tempt good men to sneak aboot at night. If agree we must to this ‘arrangement' o' yours, then ye must break apart, to the last plank, all these accursed vessels, and ne'er again build the like.”
“Sire!”
“Or else peddle them to some Teutonic barbarian, if it please ye,” said the King, chuckling, “but wi' such invisible boots, Britain shall have nae more to do.”
One by one the distinguished gentlemen grudgingly admitted that the Court Inventor had designed a balanced, stable compromise, one that permitted no party complete victory or defeat. All vowed to uphold the arrangement Cornelius had proposed.
While orders went forth to each craft's oarsmen to back away from the other boats in preparation for returning to shore, King James I of England leaned over and spoke in Cornelius' ear. “If I'd but known o' your skill in matters diplomatic, I swear I'd have sent ye to Spain to make the Match.”
Through the open hatchways of one of the other two boats, Cornelius Drebbel heard, or thought he heard, the faint jingling of bells, and the merry voice of Archibald Armstrong singing:
“Of me, thought ye'd rid—“
“Yet ‘neath water I've hid—“
“Solve my riddle, ye did!” |