The Raven's Heart

by Jesse Blackadder

  We push the door open and walk inside. There are small knots of merchants, guildsmen, some apprentices, drinking and talking. I lead the way to a booth near the rear where we shall be less on show. We slide onto the benches and I wave to a barmaid with a gesture for three tankards of ale. She brings them across on a tray, places them on the table, and takes my coins.

  I reach for mine, take a deep gulp, and belch loudly. The Queen and Lusty both look at me with rising alarm and then the Queen picks up her own tankard and follows suit. Lusty hesitates, then takes such a huge swallow that she chokes and must splutter and cough until she regains her breath.

  “Stop sitting like a woman,” I say under my breath to her. I catch the eye of a young whore across the room. I raise my tankard to her and wink, and she begins to make her way over.

  “What are you doing?” Lusty squeaks, and I kick her ankle under the table.

  “Why, gents, it is a cold night to be out,” the whore says, sliding next to Lusty on the bench seat. “Is it company you seek?”

  “My friend here has just come out of a monastery down in the Borders,” I say, sitting back and stretching out my legs. “He is a young fool with no money, but I promised a glimpse of the beauty of Edinburgh’s women, lest he think I’ve been lying to him.”

  She turns to Lusty and draws a finger down her cheek. “So smooth,” she says with a smile. “How old are you, lad?”

  “He’s only a boy; don’t tease him too much,” I say. “He’s barely seen a woman these two years.”

  She winks. “He’ll want educating then.”

  I grin back at her. “We’ll have to get him drunker than this first, for he is a pious lad and knows nothing of love. But keep an eye on him—he may call for you later.”

  “Very well. You gents should try a whisky instead. Does wonders for keeping out the cold. Shall I send some over?”

  “Please.” As she slides out, I press a few coins into her hand. I turn back to find the Queen and Lusty both staring at me. I raise my tankard to them both. “Come on, lads! You’re both very dull tonight. Is our city so frightening that two country boys cannot raise a toast to it?”

  The whiskies arrive and through cajolery, jokes, and toasts I make sure they both down a dram quickly before their wide-eyed silence draws more attention. I wave for the barmaid to bring us more drinks.

  The tavern is filling up and the whisky is having an effect. The Queen’s pale skin shows a pleasant flush and her eyes are bright. But they both are still staring around the room with wonder and I must keep up an unbroken stream of chatter.

  “Let’s have another whisky,” Lusty says. “This is fun, Robert.”

  I cannot attract the barmaid now, for the floor is full. “Stay here,” I say. “Don’t look at anyone.”

  When I gather our drinks and return, a man has slid into my seat. The Queen and Lusty are regarding him like two startled deer.

  “Where are you from, then?” he asks as I come up to the table.

  “Good sir, my cousins are newly from the country,” I say. “They are both church men and know little of Edinburgh. Thank you for making their acquaintance and I bid you good night.”

  “I would like to bid you good night,” he says, his eyes on Lusty, ignoring me. “The church, eh? Tell me, are the reformers less likely than the Catholics to take the altar boys for their pleasure?”

  “Sir, my cousin will be most offended. I must ask you not to speak to him thus.”

  “And who are you?” he demands, turning his eyes to me with an unpleasant look.

  “None of your concern.” Alone, I would wriggle away through the crowd while he blinked, or flash a dagger near his groin to discourage him, but Lusty and the Queen are pinned to their seats and their fear goads him on.

  “I’ll make it my concern, cocky lad. What are you going to do about it?”

  “Are you bothering these gentlemen?” The voice at my shoulder is deep and I turn to see Red, Sophie’s own bodyguard, looming above us. He is a massive man with an auburn beard and thick arms. He grips the interloper’s neck and I see our harasser’s eyes widen when he feels the strength of it. He rises without a word and disappears into the crowd.

  Red raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Thank you, good sir,” I say, with a slight frown.

  He nods almost imperceptibly. “You’d best come away. You seem to be attracting attention down here.”

  I nod to the Queen and Lusty and we follow Red through a small doorway, up some stairs, along a wide corridor, and into a sumptuous drawing room, hung with tapestries. A blaze worthy of Holyrood roars in the fireplace. Sophie, elegantly dressed to offset her black hair and dark eyes, is seated by its warmth.

  “I thank you and your guard, madam,” I say, before she can show she knows me. “Your man helped us out of a tricky spot down there. My young friends were worried.”

  She stands and smiles. “Please, sit down,” she says, waving us across to the fire.

  She looks at us, first the Queen, then Lusty, and then me. I drop her a wink that no one else sees.

  “May I get you gentlemen a drink?” she asks.

  “You are most kind to relieve us from the attentions of that lout, but we were about to leave,” I say.

  “At least have a dram.” She starts pouring out whisky into small silver cups. “It is a cold night and you will need it if you have far to walk home.”

  She hands out the drinks. “I am Sophie Duncan, the owner of this tavern.”

  “I’m Robert,” I say. “This is Francis and John. They are country lads and not confident of themselves.”

  The Queen and Lusty take their drinks. They have all but given up their act now. I half expect Lusty to burst into tears.

  “Their mothers will have me drawn and quartered for sneaking them to a tavern this night,” I say. “I must take them home before they are missed.” I swig the whisky and get to my feet. “Come, lads.”

  Sophie stands too. “I shall have Red show you to the rear entrance so you don’t run into your admirer again. When you come again, ask for me. I think you gentlemen might prefer to drink in our private rooms.”

  The Queen and Lusty walk past me and I turn to follow them out of the room. Sophie is close behind me and she puts her hand on my arm.

  “You must come back and tell me about your new friends,” she whispers.

  Seton is half hysterical when we return. Lusty becomes boastful, marching about the room as she should have in the tavern, forgetting what a fool she became. The Queen says little and when I ask if she is all right, she nods and says she is ready to retire. I wrap my cloak about me and pull the hood over my head before creeping through the darkened palace and into my quarters. Angelique is asleep and I slide into bed silently. I listen to her even breathing for a long time.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  The next night, I answer the Queen’s summons, but when I enter the bedchamber I find it empty. I can see candles burning in the supper room around the edge of the door. She has left me a noble’s finery, a richly embroidered tunic, dark leggings, soft boots, and a velvet cap. When I am ready, I tap on the door of the supper room and she bids me enter.

  She is sitting alone at a tiny inlaid table. It is January and the night set in hours ago. The doors have long since been bolted, the guards posted, the gates to the palace made fast. A fire is crackling in the hearth, hot and bright enough to keep the cold buried in the stone walls. The plates are covered with pewter tops to keep the dinner warm.

  “Robert,” she says, in her resonant voice, lifting a glass of deep red wine in my direction. In the candlelight, her skin is porcelain licked by fire. I expected her to be dressed as a man but she is the Queen in magnificence, her gown taut around her tiny waist, her hair pulled up in a French plait. She inclines her head to direct me to the place opposite hers. I lift the pewter lid to find a roasted quail.

  The Queen begins to eat hers daintily, using a small, jeweled knife to cut it. I bring out my own larger knif
e, hack the bird into chunks, and pick one up. I eat it, lick the grease off my fingers, drop a bone to her dog, and take another mouthful of wine.

  “Tell me about your castle,” she says.

  She catches me unawares and I straighten myself at once. “I have never seen it, Your Grace.”

  “Never?” she asks, surprised.

  “It lies in the Borders, not far from Berwick. I know only that it is artfully built on the riverbank itself and that from its turrets you can see for many miles. My father believes that one of his sisters still survives there today, but he has never been able to contact her.”

  She puts her glass down and regards me. “I have decided I will help you. But it will take me some time to find out about the legal ownership, and I wish to be discreet. I cannot offend one of the lords of my Privy Council without cause.”

  I fiddle with the stem of my cup.

  She smiles at me. “If your story is true and your castle was taken unjustly, I will return it to you.”

  In spite of myself, I draw in my breath sharply.

  She holds up a hand. “I will have something in return from you. Our fates will entwine. Your castle shall be returned when I sit upon the English throne. Until then you will stay with me, serve me, prove your loyalty.”

  I sit back in my chair. She stands and walks to the window, giving me a moment to gather my thoughts. She has promised me the castle and snatched it back again in the same breath. The shock of it leaves my heart pounding.

  “Know you the legend of Hugin and Munin, the ravens belonging to Odin?” she asks, peering into the darkness. “He sent them out each dawn to gather information and return in the evening to whisper the news into his ears.”

  “I do not know that story,” I manage to say.

  “But of course you know the Bible story that Noah himself sent forth a raven to find out if the floods had receded and the world was safe.”

  “Of course,” I say.

  She swings around. “I have a new role for you. Be my raven. Go out into the city and listen to its mood. What do the people think of their Queen? What do they think of Knox and his raving? Be my ears on Edinburgh’s streets.”

  I bow my head to show my assent and to hide my turmoil. She binds me to her with such an uncertain promise. I don’t know if I should dance in delight, or despair at the time it may take her to redeem it.

  “There are clothes you may take,” she says. “The outfit you wear, and others in my bedchamber that I have ordered for you. Keep it secret, Alison.”

  There is a knock at the door. “Your Grace, the Earl of Morton is in the presence chamber to see you,” a servant announces from outside.

  “I will be out momentarily,” the Queen calls. She turns back to me. “Do not fear. I am England’s rightful ruler under the law. That is why Elizabeth fears me so. I shall have its throne before long and then you will have your castle. All you must do is be loyal.”

  I rise to my feet and she walks to the door and turns. “Go down the back staircase,” she says. “I cannot dine alone with a gentleman in my chambers.” She smiles and closes the door behind her.

  I make my way to her bedchamber and pause at the entrance to the back stairwell. I am alone in this place at once intimate and public. The place where she sleeps and dreams.

  William will hate her for this promise.

  I stretch out my hand and stroke her pillow, just once.

  Eleven

  The winter is so cold the streets freeze. I step into Saint Giles to listen to the sermons of John Knox and memorize his words. I drink in the taverns and join the conversations of men. I stroll around the market days and listen to the gossip of women. I store away information, divulging it to her later in private meetings.

  Now that I come in and out of the palace alone, I do not dress in the Queen’s bedchamber. I enlist Angelique to help me with clothes, and to watch until the corridor is empty and I may pull my cloak over my head and creep to the servants’ passageways. I pay much of my allowance into the hands of guards to let me pass and, I hope, keep their mouths closed.

  “Does she not fear a scandal?” Angelique asks as she helps me dress one night before I go to meet the Queen in her private supper room.

  I shrug. “There’s no harm in it. Few know what we do, and none of them will tell. And what if they did? It is a game.”

  “A game?” she says. “What would John Knox make of our Queen dining alone with you, dressed as a man?”

  I pull away from her assistance. “Nothing. Don’t be a fool.”

  “A queen may not act in such a way without consequences. Our Queen had best take care of her reputation, or they will be singing ditties in the street about how manly she is, and how will she marry then?”

  “She has care enough for it that she does not need her servants to concern themselves on her behalf.”

  She stands back. “She is a queen and you are nothing, Alison. Don’t give her your heart.”

  “I have given the Queen my service and in return she will restore my family’s honor. My heart is my own concern. You do not know where it lies.”

  “Anyone who cares to notice can see where it lies,” she says, turning away. “You have not seen what happens when a queen is angered. Or when she tires of you.”

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  I am awaiting my castle and the Queen is waiting for love.

  In the question of her marriage lies my fate, for her choice of husband will be critical in moving her closer to the English throne. The courts of Europe and the unmarried kings and princes jostle for position. Elizabeth of England is the greater prize of the two queens, but she is Protestant and delights in keeping foreign kings and her own advisers guessing about her marriage intentions. She understands what will happen as soon as a powerful male enters the political picture. Her nobles are longing to deal with a man, just as they are in Scotland and, while Elizabeth would retain power in name, she knows it would be eroded in reality.

  Our Queen is looking for love but a ruler is not free to follow her heart. She must marry where politics and power dictate. She needs a man who will take her part, who will add his power to her own and make both of them greater for it. He should have a prize of his own to offer—such as the crown of Spain. But the men who hold such prizes are busily wooing Elizabeth, who keeps them dangling. Without confirmation from Elizabeth of her right of succession to the English throne, our tall, beautiful Queen comes a pale second. Elizabeth holds the trump card in this royal game.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  The English envoy, Randolph, comes to Scotland to talk to the Queen of marriage and matters of state and she arranges a night of dancing and singing in the palace to ward off the winter and make him welcome. She has poached an Italian bass singer, David Rizzio, from another visiting ambassador, and delights in the chance to show him off.

  “We shall go tonight dressed as noblemen,” she announces during the afternoon.

  The Marys and I stare at her. “I thought you wanted to impress the ambassador,” says Beaton.

  The Queen shrugs. “I will impress him with a game, to match the games my cousin plays in the matter of marriage. We will show him that we are not Elizabeth’s pawns.”

  The Marys are downcast. They would prefer to don their finest dresses for such a night. But it is no light matter to me. My secret disguise will be revealed to the court.

  “What if John Knox hears of it?” I ask.

  “This is politics, not religion. Such games are often used in court to make a difficult point.”

  “Not in Scotland,” I say, desperate. “It will be a scandal.”

  She laughs. “You have told me yourself how the Scots love to dress up and play-act. What would be a scandal in secret is clever diplomacy in public.” She pats my hand. “It will be fun. You’ll see.”

  “Your Grace, I dare not be revealed,” I say in a low voice. “Is not Lord Hume among the guests this night?”

  “But you are my finest actor,” she says. “I k
now. You will wear a mask and speak only French. My nobles will be too busy staring at me to notice you.”

  I have no choice, only to nod and help them don the most extravagant male outfits. The Queen is gay and laughing, and eventually the Marys cheer up. But as we come to the great hall together, a gaggle of noble young men, I look at her and it hurts my heart. Our secret game, our private delight, is finished the moment we walk through the door. It is policy and politics now.

  The hall is packed with guests and a collective gasp rises as we enter. Amid the shocked pause, the musicians strike up a merry note and there is a smattering of applause. Every eye is upon the Queen as she walks across the room to Randolph, followed by her boyish entourage. He bows low, hiding the consternation on his face. When he rises again, he is smiling.

  “A very cunning disguise, Your Grace,” he says. “You could teach some of Europe’s royal blood how a man should dress.”

  “Tell me, does Elizabeth ever do the same?” the Queen asks, smiling.

  “Why no, I have not seen it,” says Randolph. “Though she often says she has the heart of a man.”

  “If only she had more than the heart of a man, then she might solve the pressing problem of both our marriages in one stroke!”

  There is a ripple of laughter from the court.

  “Why, Elizabeth has the heart of a man and you have the bearing of a man,” La Jardiniere, the Queen’s Fool, calls out. “Surely between you, you may make one man!”

  I draw in my breath sharply but our Queen only smiles. “Perhaps I should come to England with you, Randolph, and see if I can win the Queen’s hand as a young man and then unite our kingdoms. Do you think she would see through my disguise?”