Alas, Poor Yorick

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Gertrude has the grace to lower her eyes, abashed. “You take great care of my son, Yorick.”

  I do not trust myself to speak to her without further distressing the Prince, and so I remain at my task of soothing young Hamlet, taking a bouncing turn about the room. “With winter coming, we will have to depend on your discretion,” says Claudius with the confidence of one who has already achieved his ends. “You will serve as our protection.”

  Gertrude shakes her head no.“He is devoted to the King,” she whispers.

  “And he has been given the task of caring for his son. I doubt he will want to expose us. Not only would it bring the boy’s legitimacy into question, it would serve to bring dissention to the Council; which my brother would not like, for it would compromise the succession. While he is at war, such questions could bring him disaster here in Denmark.” He smiles at me again, with the same air of contempt in his manner. “So you will protect Gertrude’s good name and the place of the Prince. And you will not allow anyone to discover the Queen and me together.”

  More than I want to keep blood in my veins I want to throw this betrayal back in Claudius‘ face. But he is right. Any victory I achieved would be short-lived and catastrophic. So I meet his gaze with my own. “You will not interfere with my instruction of the Prince,” I demand.

  “Why would I do that?” Claudius asks, with such a look of candor that I must again restrain my urge to smash at his face.

  Hamlet whimpers, and I rock him. “’I will have your word on it. Now.” For what little it is worth, I add to myself. Claudius has shown that his word is writ on water. Yet I must secure that promise from him, so that if there is any question, Gertrude will support me on the Prince’s behalf. “All right. You have my word. You may instruct the Prince and I will not interfere.” He regards me a moment. “I suppose you will tell my brother.”

  “Not while he is in the field,” I answer, knowing that it would do the King no service to let him know the extend of his brother’s perfidy while he was powerless to act upon it.

  “Very wise,” says Claudius. “Then take up your post. Tell the Queen’s women that she is warming herself in her bed, having sustained a soaking in the rain. If you tell them not to disturb her, they will obey you.” With that, he holds out his hand to Gertrude and lifts her to her feet, in the same motion pulling her into his arms.

  I cannot watch them as they start toward her bedchamber; I rock young Hamlet on my shoulder, and again repeat the lines of the ballad:

  “For a wise and prudent King

  Will rejoice in everything;

  And any man possesses naught

  If he is bereft of thought.”

  BIRTHDAY

  “A dancing bear for the Prince’s natal day!” cries Oduvit in mock horror when the stiff major-domo has finished reading the Queen’s proclamation to those of us gathered with Voss in the kitchen, as much for warmth as for the bits of food. “Pray that the monster does not decide to devour the celebratory feast all by itself.”

  “And French tumblers,” says Mect, “from the Queen’s father.” He smiles a little, his brows rising upward. “There is also Polonius’” wife,” says Voss with an appreciative chuckle. “Look at the size of her. She could interrupt the celebration with another birth.”

  “She is not due quite yet,” I tell them, for I have heard Ricardis calculate the days many times now. “It will be another six weeks, they say, and the Prince’s natal day will come in three.”

  “Little you know about it,” says Oduvit. “Women birth when the baby is done. That is always the way it has been. And wouldn’t it be like Ricardis to do such a thing?”

  Voss has taken to encouraging Oduvit, and so he ventures, “Why do you say that?” Oduvit takes the same tone as Voss, but with mockery in it. “Why, only that she takes such pride in giving her husband two sons in less than three years. Most wives don’t manage that.” He sneers. “And the Queen dare not give Hamlet a second child just now, dare she? Which leaves all the glory to Ricardis.”

  Many of the kitchen staff laugh at this, no one more than Voss, but I do not; I dread what could become of the Queen if her dallying with Claudius should bring about a child. Daily I remind myself that the Queen has had trouble conceiving before, which is my only consolation. There is also the possibility that someone other than I will catch them in their passion, and that causes me poor sleep at night.

  “It is a good sign that the Prince is thriving. So many sons are lost in the first three years,” says Voss’ assistant, an angular fellow with huge hands and a way with game. “Those that do not thrive in their first year will probably not thrive at all.” “He is strong, and he pays attention to everything around him, and he learns quickly,” I say hotly in defense of young Hamlet, unmindful of the doubts of others. “He will be a credit to his father and his House.”

  My words are greeted with friendly chuckles and one of the scullions remarks, “Listen to the nursemaid praise his charge.”

  I swing around and stare at the youth. “He is more than my charge, he is the hope of Denmark.”

  “Bravo, bravo,” says Mect drily. “How wisely you defend the lad, who has no one to guard him with his father gone to war. And do not take up cudgels with me, Yorick. You do your task well, we all know it.” He rocks back on his heels and listens to the pelting of the rain outside. “It will be a wet winter, so they say. Thank God that I am not in the field with the King. War is bad enough. War and mud is impossible.”

  Voss looks around the kitchen at his assistants and scullions. “Let’s hear no more complaints from any of you, not now with the King at war. Think of how the army is faring and count yourselves fortunate.”

  “The King will have all that and more to contend with,” says Mect slowly. “And once the snow comes, it will be hard on him and his troops. I doubt we will have such regular dispatches as we have seen through the summer and early autumn.”

  “To have a messenger once a month with news is fortunate indeed,” says Voss with emotion; he has two nephews gone with the King to the war. “It has made the waiting tolerable.” “That may be,” says Mect, pulling a shawl more closely around his shoulders against the drafts from the corridor. “But news travels slowly in winter.”

  “And there have been no other special dispatches from Hamlet but the one Captain at the end of summer, only the regular couriers with general reports,” says Voss, taking comfort in this, for it indicated that the progress of the war had not taken an unexpected turn. “What will the Queen demand for the Mid-winter festivities, with Hamlet not here to officiate?” asks Oduvit with a sly look. “It will be up to her to command our revels. What would a woman like Gertrude want for that time?”

  “A great feast, that much I know,” says Voss with a mixture of exasperation and pride. “It will not be so grand as last year, since much of our stores went with the army; and we will have to rely on the generosity of the peasants in giving up some of their bounty to us, and we have the Prince’s natal day to celebrate before.” He shakes his head, anticipating the hugeness of his tasks. “I will want some of you,” he warns his underlings, “to visit the marketplace for fish the day of the feasts. We will need fowl as well, and any newly slaughtered pigs for mid-winter. Leave the mutton for the townspeople. I have already ordered the huntsmen to bring game to me. I think I will do well to have thirty roebucks to serve.” “They say that the Council, on the King’s order, has sent word to Fortinbras to have his court come here for the celebrations.” This from a Guardsman, who has ducked inside to restore himself. “I heard that the heralds have carried off the invitations but two days since.” There are mutters of disbelief, which Voss puts to rest. “It is my understanding that we will see some of the court of Norway here again. I have been told that I will have to plan to have food enough for twenty visitors.” “Not the whole court, then,” says Mect with an expression that is not quite surprised. “No, not the whole court. Fortinbras would not send it during this time of
year in any case, and with the war on, it is fitting that he keep to his post,” says Voss, repeating what he has been told.

  “Do you know anything about this, Yorick?” asks Mect suddenly. “As much as I have heard here,” I admit, then relent. “And a bit more,” I add, pleased that I have knowledge beyond what they know. “But since the invitation has not yet been delivered, I suggest we make no firm plans to entertain the Norwegians. They may not think it wise to come here in the middle of winter.”

  “It is true enough that they have not had a chance to say whether or not they will come,” Voss counters, his demeanor that of a man well-versed in the caprice of royal courts, “but it is also true that we had best be prepared to receive them. I would rather have too much food in the larder than not enough.”

  This prudent remark is met with endorsement from all except Oduvit.

  “Oh, come now, why should we put ourselves to such labor if there is a chance that it will be for nothing?” He makes a face and waves one arm in disapproval. “Not that it would not be pleasant to dine well all through the winter. I am as glad as any man to have a generous chop with my bread. But why must we make such efforts for those men of Fortinbras? And at a time when we may have to fete them twice. Do not we ourselves warrant such care? Who is the Queen that she is willing to deny us the best of our land, but will offer it to strangers?”

  “Allies; they are our allies,” Mect reminds him sharply. “If they come it is to show that Norway stands firm with Denmark against the Poles. That is worth a feast or two.”

  Oduvit stares at Mect in scorn. “Is that what the Emperor wants? He wishes to be sure that we will guard the north for him, and all he need do is send an occasional word of approval in order to keep us at his service?”

  The two jesters glower at one another, and I watch them in growing alarm. I make myself speak, “Whatever the reason, we will have to be ready to entertain them through the mid-winter celebrations, and the Prince’s natal day as well; we will need all our wits for that, for the Queen will be relying on us to make the occasions merry. It makes no sense to waste time in these idle speculations.”

  “Always the peace-maker,” says Mect.

  “You mean always the King’s lick-spittle,” says Oduvit fiercely. “What purpose do you seek to serve now, Yorick? What is your intention?”

  “To spare us all greater exhaustion than is necessary,” I answer with as much honesty as I can summon. “I am near the limits of my strength now. Aren’t you? Do you want to have to spend the winter in fatigue as well as cold?” “No, I don’t,” says Mect. “You’re right about that.” Oduvit glares at me, his mouth severe in his disapproval. “Your worry on our behalf is touching, if that is truly your purpose.” He swaggers toward me. “Is that all your reason for showing us such great concern?”

  I give them no answer beyond a nod; I am haunted by memories of Tollo and Hedrann. And Hieronymous.

  COUNCIL

  We have been told to expect the Norwegians to arrive within the week, if the rain is not too great; the roads have become mires and bogs, and all travel has slowed to a walk. They will arrive in time for Prince Hamlet’s natal day and will remain through Epiphany.

  “I never thought I would pray for snow and ice,” says Polonius to the Counsellors on a wet November morning, “but I do now; at least one may use sleighs over snow. In mud nothing will do.”

  There is a silence among the Counsellors that does not bode well for Polonius this morning; usually when he says something so obvious and without controversy, some of the Counsellors indicate their agreement with him. Finally the doddering Leocadius totters to his feet and suggests that a party of soldiers be dispatched to meet the Norwegians when they land.

  I draw my stool nearer the great hearth where two huge logs have just started to burn; this will not only keep me warmer, it will make me less conspicuous than if I continue to sit near Hamlet’s chair, as has been my wont. “Those men have already left,” says Claudius, who has deigned to sit with the Council this day. He has been at pains to deal well with these men since the invitation was sent to Fortinbras. I suspect it is his desire to have them speak no malice of him to their King. “Then we need only make ready to receive them here, on the King’s behalf,” says Polonius, as always eager to please and to put himself forth as Hamlet’s deputy. He is wearing a fur-lined gonel of French cut with huge square outer sleeves and lavish inner sleeves of heavy linen, as if attempting to set a new fashion at court.

  “Tell me,” says Claudius, “how are we to make merry with these men of Fortinbras’ without having it appear that we are without care for the King and our army? Should not we show gravity as well as festiveness?” His questions are cool, and his eyes show his sense of calculation. He favors Polonius with a nod that might be seen as a bow.

  “We will do what is expected of us,” says Polonius. “We will entertain in the King’s stead, so that the Norwegians will know we are confident of victory, so that when the time comes for them to face the Poles, they will have no reason to refuse because of our trepidation.”

  The Counsellors listen to this closely, each trying to determine which man wields the greatest influence with Hamlet and Fortinbras. The older men show little in their faces, but the younger ones have not yet schooled their features to mirror nothing. I cannot help but watch, enthralled by the subtle play of calculations these men strive to conceal.

  “Fortinbras will hear reports from all those who are our guests,” says Claudius. “It would be best if the reports are to our credit.” “Truly,” agrees Polonius at once. “And the King requires no less of us. But we must also mark the occasion in a solemn way, so that it will not seem we take no heed of the travail of our soldiers and kin who are defending Denmark.”

  This time the Counsellors answer more quickly, and with less circumspection than before. All of them wish not to appear laggard in endorsing the war, for it is still more favorable to them than not. “Might not this campaign be longer than we hoped?” ventures one of the Counsellors, a portly man with drink-reddened cheeks and nose; he is one who often speaks of his valor and looks to find it at the bottom of tankards. “It is possible,” says Polonius at his most stately.

  “And if it comes to pass that the King must be absent for some long time,” says Claudius, picking up the thread, “it is for us to aid him in his battle, to lend him our assistance in any way we can.” He sits back, his expression fixed and his attitude that of a man making a statement of conscience. “We must also strive to maintain Denmark as he would tend it himself if he were home.”

  “Yes,” seconds Polonius, trying not to sound too pleased. “So we must.”

  I listen to them and I feel my strength flee. How am I to carry out my obligations to Hamlet with these men conniving to bring him to ruin through the appearance of aid? The question continues to perplex me long after the Counsellors have left the Chamber and gone about their various tasks. Only the need to tend to the Prince rouses me from my dire speculations.

  CELEBRATION

  It is Prince Hamlet’s natal day, and I have never felt more the traitor than I do in this hour, standing beside Gertrude and Claudius like one of their creatures as the feast is set forth; six whole oxen roasted with entire hams and a bushel of onions inside them; fifty snipe and herons dressed in a sauce of eggs and cream with sweet herbs; nine roasts of venison with crushed mustard seed and ginger; clotted cream with honey to be served with spiced breads; a soup of shellfishes; two dozen braised geese filled with new cheese, leeks and butter with coriander; and four huge fish, newly caught and poached, with a dressing of egg-and-oil with dill and French garlic. Musicians play sweet dances for the Prince and the rest of the court; they are seated in the gallery so that the sound of crumhorns falls plaintively on the air, and the beat of the tambor sounds like a distant heart. Nothing is too loud, for such things distress young Hamlet, who is more interested in chewing anything he can reach than in listening to the lilting airs which so delight
the people around the dais.

  The Prince himself is little impressed with these festivities; his nursemaid has rubbed mead on his gums where the first teeth are coming through, and it has made him drowsy. For the greater part of the banquet he dozes in his cradle next to his mother’s throne, where I can reach him and play my shawm for him, not that I suppose he hears the tunes over the braggle of conversations that fill the Great Hall.

  Most conspicuous at the high table tonight is Ricardis, her belly so ripe that it is an effort for her to sit in her chair. Beside her, Polonius makes no attempt to disguise his pride at her pregnancy, and when she asks to be permitted to retire before the end of the meal, Polonius all but preens as he leads her from the Great Hall, basking in the attention his wife commands.

  As they depart, Claudius leans over and whispers something to Gertrude which brings a quick smile and a rush of color to her face. One among the Norwegians notes this; I can see the inquiring lift of his brows as he watches the two of them. Then he is distracted by the arrival of Oduvit, who begins by snatching a tray away from one of the pages and distributing its contents in the most inept and chaotic way possible.

  Oduvit is shining tonight, performing many outrageous antics and showing himself to be a fine and brilliant fellow, up to more tricks than the most determined village cutpurse. Even his scathing remarks at the expense of the Norwegians and Fortinbras are met with hilarity. He capers along the space between the tables, jibing here, tweaking there, and all the while gamboling as if he were a young lamb in the field. I watch him and long for the chance to do the same, but I am ordered to remain where I am, and for the sake of my vow to the King, I must do it. I am also troubled that I am the only guard mounted over the Prince, for what protection can I afford him should any deliberate harm be worked on him?