“Well, one writes what one is paid to write, and the histories were more or less common ground, several of us having worked on them, so Will may have felt free to rework them himself.” I fell silent, thinking of Nicolas’ reaction to the history plays, the ones dealing with Richard III. Nicolas, in his youth, had been presented at Richard’s court, had honored the man, and was incensed that one who was so fair and upright in all his dealings, as well as a just and able ruler, should be so portrayed as a monster of depravity and evil. It had in fact been Richard’s own Queen Anne that had died of the same consumptive illness Rózsa contracted, and Nicolas, loving the gentle little Queen, had never gotten over her loss. It had taken some time to convince him that the play, written on commission, had been aimed at the twisted body of Robert Cecil, who was being groomed for high office, and who could not take the merited offense at the play without seeming to defend Richard and the Plantagenets, a most perilous posture in a Tudor court. Now, if one could set the scene... With a start I realized that Tom had been speaking to me, and held up my hands with a grin. Tom laughed aloud at the familiar situation.
“It’s good to see you working again, Kit,” he said simply.
I rode through the light snowfall that had started with the dusk, obeying the summons from the Queen to attend her at Whitehall that evening. I had had no word from Roger, whom I had commissioned to bring the Earls of Essex and Southampton to Chelsey that night, but then the lad hadn’t seemed to be listening. When the message came I shrugged and ordered my horse saddled, leaving instructions where I could be found, and orders to care for the earls if they arrived after all. I needn’t have worried. The first thing I saw in the brilliantly lit room was the long and elegant form of the Earl of Southampton lounging against a wall drawling advice at the players engaged in a game of primero, to their great annoyance and his own apparent amusement. From the way that his eyes narrowed I guessed that Roger had extended my invitation in some rude or unflattering terms. I acknowledged Southampton’s glare with an absent nod and proceeded to the Queen, standing at her right hand, and bending to hear her words over the music.
“Well, cousin, what was that bit of by-play in aid of?”
I shrugged. “I do not think that the earl cares overmuch for me,” I said, and the Queen’s pursed lips stretched into a reluctant smile.
Chapter 4
Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton, eyed the dark figure shadowing the Queen for a moment before wandering off in search of Essex, his thoughts chaotic. They had received the invitation—the summons rather, from Almsbury that afternoon, and even given Roger’s perpetually sullen and bellicose mood of late, had felt the demand arrogant in the extreme, although Essex had overreacted, in Hal’s opinion. After all, it was he, not Robin, whom the prince had disarmed with a lazy grace that was the purest form of insult, and not once, but twice. Even then, though sorely vexed, Hal had found the man as disturbingly attractive as he was profoundly aggravating.
He located Robin closeted with his stepfather Blount and old Selby, and leant against the wall, waiting. “He’s here,” he announced laconically during a lull in the conversation, then drifted over to the table to pour some wine. The three were looking at him expectantly, so he raised his cup with an exaggerated flourish. “Her Majesty’s sinister Shadow, even now,” he said, and drained it, watching Essex’s reaction over the cup’s rim with an interest that was more than a little tinged with malice. Robin leapt to his feet, knocking the stool sideways into the fireplace. Blount swore and pulled it away, using it as an excuse not to look at his stepson, while Lord Selby flushed and licked at lips gone suddenly dry. Essex, by force of will, regained his control.
“Is he, by God,” was all he said before striding from the room, followed seconds later by the others.
No one could have staged a scene more carefully to goad Essex than the one that met his eye. Kryštof was leaning sideways against the back of Elizabeth’s chair, toying with her ruff and jewelry, whispering in her ear. He straightened at the sight of the approaching earl, and allowed a complacent, goading smile to flit briefly across his lips before schooling his features into indifference. Essex, more than half in his cups, flushed an ugly red color, and leapt forward to strike his rival away from the throne. Kryštof stumbled from the dais, regained his balance and whirled to face his assailant, only to step back with hands raised when he saw that Essex had done the unthinkable: he had drawn unbated steel in the presence of his Sovereign.
Essex advanced until he stood with his rapier held lightly against his rival’s throat. His hand shook and a drop of blood welled beneath the rapier’s tip, dark as a garnet against that silken white skin. It seemed to break the spell that held the entire court motionless. Uttering a curse, Southampton flung himself between them, pushing the rapier-point to the ground with his forearm, incidentally slashing the prince’s doublet and the shirt beneath from neck to navel, his own arm protected by his padded and jeweled sleeve. Blount leapt to place himself between the Queen and Essex. A thin line of dark blood traced the weapon’s path down Kryštof ’s chest. Selby tittered nervously and Robin gazed, stunned, at the stained tip of his weapon before throwing it to the floor and turning to the Queen. He held imploring hands out to her, but she glared at him, ordering to Blount to take him away.” Elizabeth!” he cried out, piteously, then allowed himself to be led from the chamber. Southampton had already gotten a firm grip on Kryštof ’s arm and shoved him through a side door into an adjoining gallery, not realizing that he accomplished his task only because it suited the purposes of the foreign prince.
The gallery was dimly lit, the windows shrouded against the chill winter night, and Southampton stood with his face shadowed, looking sidelong at the marred face of the prince. Kryštof turned his face and their eyes met.
“Essex is a hotheaded fool,” Kryštof said quietly, and Southampton nodded slightly. He stifled a gasp as the prince reached a hand to turn his face to the light, and resisted the urge to pull away. He was attracted to the man, but he was no Almsbury to be ruled by his lusts, though he was almost sorry when the prince let him go. His next words caused Hal to stare.
“Cecil is watching you all, waiting. He suspects Devereux of plotting rebellion, and the man proves his folly often enough to make it believable.” The words uttered quietly, but with a steely intensity. “You may all end up in the Tower, or worse, if you continue in this fashion, my lord.”
“Why do you tell me this, your grace?”
“I tell you because I do not like being enjoined to spy, and as little as I may care for my lord of Essex, I care for Cecil even less. Make of it what you will, my lord, but do consider yourself warned.”
“It may be, of course, that you say these things on commission from Cecil to scatter us,” Southampton riposted, and was answered with a cool nod.
“Time alone must answer that,” Kryštof said and turned to go, almost colliding with Selby as he rushed into the gallery in a flurry of rustling silk, one jeweled hand lifted to keep his cartwheel ruff from flying up and blinding him.
“Your pardon, your highness,” he murmured, and sketched a bow. “Hal, Robin escaped from—”
“Of course he did,” Southampton interrupted impatiently. “As the Queen intended when she consigned him to his stepfather’s custody. Do not practice to be a fool, Tom, you may find it a habit hard to break. Rob will sulk for a time and then come weening his way back into the Queen’s favor. Do not hush me, the prince is well aware of the truth, and, I should guess, not offended when he hears it. And he has already assured me that he does not care for spies.” Southampton turned a genuine smile on the prince, and Kryštof found himself smiling back. Hal was a most attractive man. “About your invitation for tonight, your grace, we—”
“I quite understand, my lord; perhaps another evening?” Kryštof interjected smoothly and left the room, followed by Selby’s distracted gaze and Southampton’s speculative one.
Several hours later, Southampton l
ay at full length before the fire at Essex House in the fashionable Strand, reviewing the events of the day. The exiled Essex was now engaged in pacing the room, calling the foreigner every foul name he could think of. His powers of invention were not that strong and he had begun to repeat himself. Hal sat up and stretched.” Leave off, Robin,” he yawned, “or administer some of that cudgeling wit to your own back. If you hadn’t acted the lackwit you wouldn’t find yourself in this plight. Did you truly think the man would draw and duel with you then and there?”
“He’s a puling coward, hiding in a woman’s skirts!”
“You’re a fool an you think so! That man is no coward, whatever else he mayor may not be. He never even broke a sweat and you were in a fair way to cut his throat.” Southampton shivered slightly at the memory of that deadly calm, and the dark blood beading that unnaturally pale skin. “Another thing, I warrant, you could have done nothing more likely to please Ralegh. He was grinning like a crocodile through the whole piece. What possessed you, Robin?” Essex shrugged and threw himself into a chair.
“He maddens me! How Her Majesty can dandle with the likes of that outlandish, beardless, black gipsy—”
“The same way that she could fondle with a jumped up Devon squire, I should imagine, Rob, and I must say that you handled that rather better. Tossing the Throckmorton wench in his way was a stroke of pure genius, and all the better for that no one suspects your hand in it. Why can you not command yourself so in this?”
“I cannot think of that villain without flying into a rage! He killed my cousin William, you know—”
“After you sent William out to waylay the man, to kill a prince like a dog in the road! That was not well done; Robin and you do know it. You were lucky there that naught worse happened than the loss of a distant kinsman.”
“I never meant them to kill the man.”
“Just club him insensible and leave him there to bleed to death?” Hal snorted and reached for the wine jug. “This is empty, and so is your store of wit tonight, Rob. I advise you to your bed, and I’ll to mine. Things may look clearer on the morning.”
Chapter 5
I woke the next evening to the news that I had company, not Southampton, as I had hoped, but Selby. I dressed hastily and went down to the room that served as my study. Lord Selby stood with his back to the door, rifling through the papers on the table. The man would never make a spy, I thought irritably, and I was going to have to see that another room was readied for the reception of guests, if this was any indication of what I might expect of their courtesy. I cleared my throat and the visitor turned, pages still in hand, and smiled at me, raising his soft, ring-laden hand to hide his blackened teeth.
“You are a poet, your Highness! I did not know.” He dropped the pages carelessly back onto the table and stepped closer holding out his hand. I stepped back, turning to the door and calling for wine as an excuse for not touching the man. I took the tray from Sylvie at the door; serving the wine myself sooner than expose her to my guest’s attention, then settled myself into a chair and motioned the man into another. Selby, well aware that he had been insulted, swallowed his pride with an ease that argued long practice and took the proffered seat.
“It is no secret, my lord, that I neither read nor write,” I said sharply, lightly tapping my eye-patch.
“Hence my rudeness, I fear,” Selby answered smoothly. “Having heard that, I could not contain my curiosity at the clutter of paper and volumes there. I do apologize. The play concerns an ancestor of yours, does it not? It is excellent—”
“I will tell my cousin, the Baroness Ramnicul, so.”
“Ah, your cousin. That would be the woman you are keeping here, then. I fear the all town believes her to be but your doxy—” He broke off, raising his hand in reproof as I stood suddenly, color flaming across my face. “Your grace, please! I did not say that I thought that, and indeed I am most happy, most happy, to hear it is not so! I will do what I may to turn such malice aside, I promise you, now that I know the truth. I am certain that it is no more than the tittle-tattle of servants in any case. Please sit back down, and let us talk.” I felt taut as a drawn bowstring and sank warily back into my chair, trembling with suppressed rage.
“I will now to my business, my lord. I have heard that you are thick with Sir Walter Ralegh, and that both he and Thomas Walsingham frequent your house here. But now you are seen in the company of my little friend Roger, and I am afraid that he does your reputation no good, no good at all. He has told me—things,” he paused to lick his dry lips, “and I have heard things from others, about your—tastes—your carnal tastes. We have much in common, my lord, oh, very much.” He reached out his hand, puffy fingers crawling like slugs across my hand, then reaching for my face. I jerked away, but Selby, recognizing the emotion, clutched tighter, digging his nails into my flesh.” Depend on it, your grace, I hold all the winning cards in this hand.”
“You want money I suppose, or you will—what?” I spat, gripping the seat of my chair in an effort not to reach up and throttle the man. He laughed softly, turning my maimed face to meet his eyes, dropping the other hand to wrench open my half-buttoned doublet.
“Money? Yes, later perhaps I will want money, but first—you are beautiful, my lord, so beautiful, and it would not be wise for you to refuse me the use of your body, although it will certainly pleasure me all the more to avail myself of you and you unwilling.
“I have learned the arts of coercion very well, my lord, the arts of seduction having failed with age, and do not flatter yourself that you are the first I have practiced upon. Now either I will have you, my sweeting, or Master Topcliffe will! How do you think old Bess would respond if she found that one of her favorites preferred boys? She is her father’s daughter, after all, and sodomy is not a charge she will take lightly. You’d be for the Tower, and not just you, I fear, but good Sir Walter and your pretty Tom as well. I would see to that. Your foreign blood might save you, or it might not. Nothing would save them.” His voice had dropped to a crooning whisper, his free hand had opened my shirt, which I had not bothered to lace, and his pallid eyes took in the burn scars on my bared chest as he drew his thick finger down the thin redline, the track of Essex’s blade. His breath hissed out at the sight of the brands. “Ah, I see that I will not be the first to teach you the pleasures to be found in pain, and the delights of submission. Oh, we will have such sport together, my sweet! Come now, surrender yourself to me, you know that you must, that you want and need this as much as I.” His slavering breath was coming faster, his eyes glazed.
“No.” I raised my hands, clamping relentless fingers about his wrists, forcing his hands back, pushing the looming body away. Rising and forcing the horrified man back into the chair he had just left, I stood looking down, only half hearing the broken threats that bubbled from him in a continuous stream. Crossing his wrists in front of him, I held them both effortlessly with one hand, using the other to force his chin up, capturing and holding his hate filled glare.
“How often have you played this game, my lord? How often have you practiced your sport on some unwilling victim? For the last time now, that I promise you!” My hand slipped into his hair, drawing his head back and exposing the pulsing vein in his throat. Disgust welled in me as my teeth sank into my victim and his sour blood filled my mouth. Soon his body relaxed against me and I pulled away. “Now look at me, my lord, look only at me,” I said, his blood still wet on my lips.
When I had finished with the brute I had Jehan take him to a tavern near Whitehall. I then went to the kitchen and forced myself to swallow a great deal of bread, which I promptly vomited up along with whatever remained of Selby’s foul blood, as tainted as his soul.
Chapter 6
Sir Harry Warren and Sir Edward Selby watched with some interest as the big serving-man led Ned’s unresisting uncle through the crowded common room, deposited him in a private parlor, paid the landlord with gold and then vanished from the smoke filled room. Each
had sold himself to the depraved old man more than once, when the alternative had been a prison stay for debt, and Ned still bore the scars. Harry was the more fortunate in that respect: the aging lecher could not use his kinship and the threat of disinheritance to take his resentment of his victim’s youth out on him. He reached a steadying hand out to his friend. He had never found out what had been done to Ned the last time he had sought his uncle’s help, and from the look on his friend’s face, he didn’t want to.
“I’ll go, Ned, if you like,” he said softly, but Ned shook his head. “Then I’ll come along.” Ned shrugged as they found their feet and threaded their way to the little parlor. Lord Thomas was sitting against the wall; bolt upright and staring at nothing. Ned spoke softly, then, and upon getting no response, more loudly, then shook his uncle by the shoulder. For a moment nothing happened, then the man swung around to face the two, his mouth opened wide, showing the broken and blackened teeth, and a scream poured from him, high pitched and metallic, going on and on. Harry had heard the like only once before, when a dog at the bearpit had gotten in a lucky slash. The bear had screamed like that, trampling its own guts into the earth trying to get to the dogs who were literally devouring it alive. He slapped the man across the cheek and the sound cut off, like snuffing a candle, only to be replaced by a worse one: Selby giggled. He looked from one to the other, and giggled again, shoving a finger into his mouth and biting down hard. Blood sprayed from his lips as he leapt to his feet, jerked the outside door open and ran out into the night.
Harry and Ned stood stunned for a moment, then ran after him. They followed him by the shouts of the bystanders, and arrived at the river’s side in time to hear the splash as he threw himself into the water.
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