Ophelia

by Jackie French

  He sat silent again, then took my hand and held it tight, as much for comfort, it seemed to me, as for love.

  ‘I think that you are right,’ he said.

  ‘I think that you are gloomy again, my lord. Can we not talk of brighter news?’

  He gave me a wry smile. ‘Of Fortinbras, now sent to Poland by his angry uncle, no longer a wolf to snap at Denmark’s heels? He asks permission for his troops to pass through Denmark, but as a friend, not conqueror.’

  So the queen was right. As soon as Fortinbras knew he would have to face a strong king and true opposition, any plans to invade had vanished. But I could not say all that to Hamlet.

  I clapped my hands in delight. ‘Truly, that is wondrous news!’

  He smiled properly then. ‘Oh, brave new world that has such girls in it. If I gave you flowers, would you rather they were council papers?’

  ‘If you gave me flowers, I … I would treasure them, as I would any gift of yours.’

  ‘And if I gave you a ring?’ he asked lightly.

  My heart thudded so loudly I was sure that he could hear it. ‘I would treasure that too, my lord, my whole life, if it came from you.’

  Someone coughed discreetly. The door had opened and I hadn’t even heard it. My father and brother might not know I came here to the library, but every servant did.

  ‘Her Majesty calls for you, my lady,’ said the footman, his face carefully blank.

  ‘I come at once,’ I said. ‘My lord, if I have your leave?’

  ‘Only if you leave to come again.’

  ‘I will.’

  My heart sang as I lifted my skirts and hurried along the shadowed corridor, as if the birds had decided it was already spring.

  Chapter 7

  It was warm in my bed cabinet with its doors shut against the draughts. I lay under the quilt and waited for the darkness to seep into my brain. Instead, it just felt stuffy. How could I sleep? All I had dreamed had come true.

  Today, Prince Hamlet had spoken of offering me a ring. He had chosen me himself, not had me put forward as a useful match by his mother, to keep the support of my father and his estates. And I loved him. Surely I loved him? His kisses made me shiver. He fascinated me, this stranger come from Wittenberg, so unlike the courtiers I saw day after day, more in love with hunting and quaffing than with their wives. Poor lonely prince. He needed me.

  He had been so troubled this morning, thinking that his father’s ghost might walk the earth on the night of his wife’s wedding to his brother.

  Were ghosts real? I was no child now, to believe in them. Even when I had crept up to the tower again, I had not really believed I would find King Fortinbras there. ‘Nonsense,’ Nurse had said when I’d told her the old king walked at night. She’d looked at me suspiciously. ‘Have you been eating cheese at bedtime again, my girl?’

  Outside, the wind muttered, rattling the shutters, as though it strove to come in. As the ghosts of men might strive to make the living remember why they must haunt the battlements: one robbed of his kingdom; the other of his wife and his son’s inheritance. It was easy to imagine ghosts in midwinter, when the darkness leached all light except the stars.

  What if there truly had been a ghost up on the battlements all those years ago? What if my meeting with King Fortinbras’s ghost was real? If that ghost was real, perhaps King Hamlet’s was too, and would continue to walk the battlements until his son and heir was king.

  And yet …

  King Hamlet had cared little for his son while he was alive. So little that he had never called him home from Wittenberg. Would he really walk in the wind and dark of the night, seeking justice for his son?

  I did not think so.

  There would be no ghosts up on the battlements; but there would be fresh air. I’d had enough of winter fires and fug and palace walls. I pushed open the bed-cabinet doors and slid down onto the cold rushes laid on the floor. Long ago I had learned that there was only one time a girl could be truly free: night, when all in the castle but its guards and porters were asleep. A time when rats danced, and owls swooped on careless mice, and the stars waltzed across the heavens, when a girl could feel the whispers of the darkness with no one calling her to unlock the store cupboard or help a queen undress.

  I reached under my mattress and found my freedom clothes — breeches, doublet and hose, a man’s leather shoes, a short half-cloak. Laertes had outgrown them at fourteen. They fitted me perfectly. They were brown and made me part of the castle’s shadows. And if someone did glimpse me, who can tell one face from another in the flicker of torchlight?

  I slipped along the corridor. The door to the palace opened smoothly; I made sure the servants kept it well-oiled. Down the main corridor, then along a small one, dusty, for the maids cleaned here only in spring. There was the door to the servants’ privy, and next to it another door, which might be to a cupboard.

  I took out the key from my shoe. I’d taken it years ago, first to lock the door behind me when I was up in the tower, so no one could find me, and then to keep the door locked even when I wasn’t there. A locked tower can be overlooked if it is small and narrow and too badly sited to use to shoot arrows or pour hot butter down upon your enemies. I suspected it had been built as access for the builders to build the privy chimney, and forgotten for hundreds of years. Except by me.

  I locked the door behind me, then climbed the narrow stairs. Round once, twice, and I was pushing open the dwarf-sized door. I found fresh air — too much of it. The wind punched and battered me, and set my cloak flapping. I pulled it close, then sat on my favourite stone on the ledge, feeling the fresh air upon my face.

  I could smell the sea, the forest, the cold stones of the graveyard below, the lingering smoke from the braziers the servants had placed in the royal garden to warm the queen when she had taken a brief stroll in the sun. I could smell the world from here!

  If only I could fly with the wind — to Wittenberg or across the waves to Norway or England. Or even deal with such places through letters and messengers, like my father did. Let my mind travel, while my body stayed here. For truly, I loved Denmark too much to want to leave. I could not believe that English cows were fatter than ours, or French cheeses creamier.

  Did they even make cheese in a university town like Wittenberg? I could be queen of infinite space if only I was allowed to let my mind free, instead of being crabbed and confined by embroidery and curtseying. I seemed to have spent half my life in a curtsey.

  Above me the moon sailed like a vast gold ducat across the sky, throwing shadows almost as distinct as those of the winter sun. On the high battlements beyond, I saw figures move. The men of the watch, though there was no enemy army to watch for tonight.

  If Fortinbras tried to climb these walls, our men could pour boiling butter down on them. And we women would huddle inside, until the men had decided the day. Yet it was our hands that made the butter, and the cheeses and dried barley loaves, so we might eat in a castle under siege by army or by winter.

  What was Hamlet doing tonight? Sleeping, I hoped, with no nightmare dreams about his father’s ghost.

  The wind moaned and muttered, almost as if its song had words. The mist clung to the castle walls … Not mist. A ghost. Hovering just above the battlements. I should be scared, I thought. But it was as though I was meeting an old friend.

  ‘You look the same,’ I whispered.

  King Fortinbras smiled. A sad smile, his kind eyes filled with empty shadows. ‘The dead do not age. Ten years is the tinny twinkle of a star.’

  ‘But I’m older.’

  ‘Older, but just the same. The girl was the seed of the woman. I have watched you grow, child, night by night upon this tower.’

  ‘I’m not a child.’ I lifted my chin. ‘I will be queen. You said I’d make a good queen.’

  He nodded. I could see the moonlight behind his face. ‘I did. Whose queen will you be?’

  ‘My own. And my people’s.’

  He smiled aga
in. ‘A good answer. I should have asked, how will you become this queen?’

  ‘The prince of Denmark loves me. Prince Hamlet.’

  The smile faded. ‘That is not a name I can love. It was Hamlet who stole my kingdom. Now Hamlet, son of Hamlet, will steal you as his bride.’

  ‘No theft, Sir Ghost. I give myself willingly. More than willingly.’

  The wind screamed, battering the walls. The ghost was silent. I thought: this man was a warrior. Now he is the ghost of one. And I have said that I am to marry the son of his once mortal enemy.

  But what could a ghost do to me? If a ghost could lift a sword, he would be avenged already.

  ‘Your Majesty … you told me long ago that ghosts must linger between earth and heaven till the injustice done to them has been avenged.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Do you seek revenge on Prince Hamlet now?’

  ‘The wind and I shall keep company above this castle till I am avenged. Vengeance will happen. It is almost done. Yet I do not seek it.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Those sad shadow eyes gazed at me. ‘Kindness returns to the giver. So does hatred. I left my son no kingdom, no castle, but I can give him this. I will not ask him to avenge me, to breed more hate. Hate begets hate, generation unto generation. Kindness breeds joys. Remember this, my child. Give with love, and love will repay you sevenfold.’

  ‘I … I will.’

  ‘Other ghosts might haunt their sons and cry, “Avenge me.” But not King Fortinbras.’ The mist faded, but his smile seemed like the moonlight, lingering on. ‘Remember, sweet Ophelia. Remember me …’

  ‘I will remember,’ I whispered.

  I sat there in my borrowed cloak. Would he appear again? He had said he’d watched me over the years. Was he watching still, part of the night?

  What power had a ghost? Power to influence the thoughts of men. And girls. King Fortinbras could have tried to turn me against Hamlet, son and namesake of his enemy. Instead, he had told me to give, with love.

  He had also said that his vengeance had almost come. He must mean that with the death of old King Hamlet he would soon be free.

  ‘Sleep well, Sir Ghost,’ I said softly to the darkness.

  His blessing seemed as warm as another cloak about my shoulders. A life of love, here in the palace. Love spilling across the kingdom. Every cheese-maker knows that cheese tastes best when made with love. A kingdom ruled with love must be better too.

  I hugged my knees, and smelled the wind, and dreamed of love, and Prince Hamlet.

  Chapter 8

  The snow outside sang to me as Gerda stirred up the bedroom fire the next morning. I had slept late, too filled with happiness to fall asleep easily after my expedition to the tower. Now the sun shone her first beams across the snow, turning the world from black to white. I could have danced across the room like a snowflake. But a lady waits to be dressed properly. And this morning, I was a lady again.

  ‘What dress today, my lady?’ asked Gerda.

  She had been my mother’s maid, and then mine since I grew too old to have a nurse.

  ‘The green with silver lacing.’

  The queen had forbidden the court to wear black for King Hamlet now that she and King Claudius were wed, yet too bright a dress might offend his son. But I was tired of lavenders and white.

  Gerda built up the fire. It blazed away the cold. Even my feet were warm on the bearskin by my bed as Gerda put up the screens and washed me with rosewater, then slid on a fresh shift, a petticoat of silver, the green overskirt and green sleeves.

  A footman brought in my breakfast: warm ale with rye bread sopped in it, and cold venison — the king must have found time to hunt in the past few days, I thought, as well as to marry — and half a dozen Hardy Orange cheeses, each one no bigger than a walnut. They were laid in straw baskets on our estates in summer, till the whey dripped out and a grassy mould grew a skin to protect the cheese inside. You had to cellar a Hardy Orange carefully — a break in the skin would send it bad.

  I cut into the first one. Perfect, as it should be. A good household and a good estate meant excellent cheese.

  ‘Has my father breakfasted?’

  ‘Hours ago, my lady, with Lord Laertes,’ said Gerda. ‘They have gone to the council chamber.’

  I nodded. While Laertes had been in Paris, Father had talked to me of state business over breakfast, for lack of any other audience for his speeches: how many ships of stockfish were needed to feed the people through winter, when the ships could no longer sail, and through the hungry spring until the harvest; if the rye crop had gone well, or had been attacked by rust; how the French king had married his daughter to the king of Scotland to seal an alliance. My father had his son home again to share his talk now, but Laertes was to start back to Paris this afternoon. Perhaps tomorrow my father might share the world with me again.

  I motioned Gerda to sit on the small stool by my side. When we were alone, I had her eat with me. She took a tankard of the ale and dunked her bread in it.

  I spread a thick slice of Hardy Orange over my bread, and took a bite. ‘What is the talk in the servants’ hall?’

  Gerda lowered her voice, even though there was no one else to hear. ‘Oh, such a fuss, my lady. Lady Annika’s maid is big with child. We’ve known for weeks, though she tried to hide it with tight lacing. But now the man will marry her, so all is well.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘The palace blacksmith’s son, apprenticed to the trade.’

  ‘Didn’t his sister …’ I stopped.

  ‘Oh, yes, that was sad. The one who drowned herself in the stream for love.’

  Or for despair, I thought. If a maid gave herself to her lover and he did not marry her, what could the girl do — her honour gone, no way to feed herself and her child? Few families, poor or rich, would keep a daughter after she had disgraced their house. The palace blacksmith had shut the door upon his daughter, and now she lay, her unborn child with her, in a suicide’s grave outside the churchyard. Even death had not washed her sins away.

  ‘Other news,’ I pleaded. ‘Happier news.’

  Gerda’s smile returned. ‘Oh, there’s very happy news, my lady. News of love, and a wedding in the summer. The whole palace is talking about it.’

  ‘Whose wedding?’

  ‘Why, yours, my lady.’

  I flushed and looked down at my bread and cheese. Was there a servant hidden behind every tapestry that lined the palace walls? ‘There has been no talk of weddings.’

  ‘But there has been of love?’

  I didn’t answer.

  The doors opened. A footman in the queen’s red and gold brocade bowed low. ‘Her Majesty would see you, my lady.’

  I stood quickly; you did not keep a queen waiting, even if you were in the privy. I was glad the summons hadn’t come before I was properly dressed. ‘Where is Her Majesty?’

  ‘In the solar, my lady.’

  The footman followed me along the corridors to open the doors for me, and Gerda followed too, carrying my silver fox cloak lined with green velvet in case the queen wished me to accompany her into the royal garden. Today’s sun might tempt her into the fresh air. The palace draughts snickered about my skirts and I almost asked for the cloak now. But that would be unseemly, as if accusing the king and queen of such poor hospitality that their company must wear their cloaks indoors.

  The solar faced south, with thick glass in its windows and braziers around the room, as well as the big fire, to keep it as warm as summer. The queen sat on a silk cushion, her ladies on cushions too, sewing their tapestries. Or rather Lady Hilda and Lady Anna sewed, and Lady Annika dozed. In the past year she had managed to stitch only the nose of the hound in her tapestry. I doubted the poor beast would ever be granted an ear, much less a tail.

  I curtseyed deeply. ‘Your Majesty. I hope I see you well.’

  The queen smiled. ‘You do.’

  She did look well — a new husband in her bed, a new throne, her son h
ome in her palace. And the old king, my mind whispered, with his cruel jokes and mistresses, safely gone.

  ‘I have a task for you, my dear.’

  ‘Of course, Your Majesty. Your will is mine.’

  She laughed. ‘I am glad to hear it. Would you carry an ox for me to Paris?’

  ‘Of course, Your Majesty.’

  ‘And sweep a mountain free of snow so I could climb it?’

  I smiled too. ‘Whatever Your Majesty wishes.’

  ‘Then this is today’s task. You will walk with my son, and make him smile. His temper has too much of winter in it. Can you manage that, do you think?’

  I curtseyed again, hoping it hid my flush. I heard a maid giggle. ‘I hope I can fulfil Your Majesty’s will.’

  ‘Then off with you. Enjoy the brief sunlight while you may. Leave us old crones to our sewing, and be young.’

  ‘Your Majesty will never be old,’ I said. ‘You are like the sun, newborn each day.’

  ‘An excellent answer.’

  I heard laughter behind me as I left.

  He was waiting for me in the great hall. Gerda had been summoned to bring fur-lined boots, a fur hat, fur gloves and muff, and a green silk jacket lined with felted lambswool to go beneath my coat. Lucky lamb, I thought, to wear only one pelt, when a lady must wear twenty. But at least I would be warm.

  I stepped up to the prince and curtseyed as gracefully as I could in six layers of silk and linen and fur. ‘My lord, your gracious mother bids me to walk with you.’

  He took my hand to raise me from the curtsey. ‘I am glad.’

  He didn’t look glad. He looked tired. More than that, I thought, suddenly worried: he looked as if the life was being drained from him with each hour he spent at Elsinore. The queen was right. He must be made to smile.

  Gerda began to follow us down the palace steps.

  Hamlet waved her back. ‘Your mistress has no need of you now.’

  ‘But, Your Highness …’ Gerda halted, looking at me helplessly. A maid must obey a prince.

  I glanced back at her, uncertain. A young girl shouldn’t walk alone with a man. But this was the prince, and I had the queen’s permission. Not just that. Her order. And I wanted to walk! To dance! Away from the smoke and shadows of the palace, the intrigues of the past month. I wanted to feel the snow break like a bread crust under my feet; breathe deep of air with all the shadows frozen out.