CHAPTER XXII
“I, and the Catholic Philip, King of Spain,
Ere I shall want, will cause his Indians
To rip the golden bowels of America.”
—Marlowe, in The Massacre at Paris.
“Ralph Contempt!”
The name transformed them instantly. The old perfervid recklessness rekindled fire in Marlowe’s eyes, while the lineaments of Vytal’s face contracted and grew sharper with rigid hate.
“Let one of us return,” suggested the poet, “and bring a force to help capture him. It cannot be that he is alone with Towaye.”
Vytal dissented. “We should lose time by going to Croatan, and even the absence of one would jeopard our chances. If we find we need assistance, Manteo can seek it later. It is most probable that, alone or not, Frazer will strive either to board the shallop and sail or to prevent you from doing so.”
“How so? He has no knowledge of my intention.”