Elizabeth met Alejandro’s surprised gaze with a level stare I had not seen since the day she had asked if I was truly a witch.
‘Will you help me, sir?’ she asked him directly. ‘I am in trouble and must go to the Bull Inn at once. There, I must meet with one who awaits me secretly and then return unseen. Blanche will guard the door here and tell anyone who asks that I am sick with the toothache and can speak to no one. But if this fails and Sir Henry discovers that I have left his custody, I shall be taken back to London, perhaps to my death.’ Her dark narrow eyes seemed to search his face. ‘All I ask is your help in seeing me safely there and back. Will you do it?’
I was astonished. If Alejandro and his master had been sent here by Queen Mary, the most likely explanation was not that she was concerned for Elizabeth’s soul but that she wanted her watched and reported on. Now Elizabeth was planning to trust the spy in their midst with this most dangerous of secrets?
Alejandro glanced sideways at me, his eyes filled with a kind of subdued laughter, as though mocking my surprise. He looked assessingly at Blanche Parry’s worried expression, the handkerchief she was fretting at nervously, then at the Lady Elizabeth, standing cautiously with her back against the wall.
‘Madam, is this visit treasonous?’
Defensive, she shook her head. ‘It is not, sir.’
He bowed. ‘Then I am at your service,’ he said simply. ‘When do we leave?’
‘Straight away.’
Blanche pulled at her lower lip in distress, her face beginning to quiver. ‘I beg you not to go, my lady. It is too dangerous. My husband is staying at the Bull tonight, with others of your faithful followers who could not bear to be parted from you. Let me bear a message to him, pray do not go yourself.’
‘I must go in person. This is not something that can be written down and given to another person to carry.’ Elizabeth turned to me sharply, ignoring Blanche’s little whimper of despair. ‘Meg, you will accompany me to the village. We will take the back way, it will be safer. But if the guards see me in this cloak, with any luck they will believe I am Joan. You must tell them she is visiting her sick mother in the village, and that she is too upset to speak.’
I nodded.
‘Sir, you must follow without being seen until we have left the palace grounds,’ Elizabeth instructed Alejandro. ‘I will be one hour at the Bull in a private room, and afterwards will return here. I trust we shall not be discovered on the way. But if we are, you may be required to use your sword in my defence.’
Alejandro said nothing, his face sombre, but he rested his hand lightly on the hilt of his sword.
I spoke up at last. ‘Where is the guard on your door?’
Elizabeth hesitated. ‘Blanche offered him a hot posset to keep out the chill. As soon as he had finished drinking it, he had a sudden urge to . . . to visit the privy. The poor man may be gone for quite a while.’
This confession broke the tense atmosphere. Blanche giggled into her handkerchief. Even Alejandro smiled, then went to the door and opened it a crack, his eyes alert for danger.
‘Shall we go?’
The Bull Inn was livelier than I had seen it before. The arrival of chilly autumn weather must have drawn men from the village to the inn’s roaring fires and cosy backrooms, to the blood-heating tang of its ales. As we approached quietly by a side alley, the battered front door was yanked open, throwing a stream of smoky light across the road. Two large, burly men spilled out of the inn, cursing each other for fools, their mangy dogs underfoot, barking and snarling as their owners argued.
Over their heads, the sign of the Bull swung in a sharp breeze, creaking.
I shivered, and saw Alejandro’s eyes on me. My chin rose another inch and I looked away, trying to appear unconcerned.
Yes, I was afraid of being captured along with the disgraced princess. The memory of Marcus Dent’s interrogation still prickled under my skin, the knowledge of how close I had come to death.
But I would not admit that to him.
Cautiously, we moved out of the shadows at a signal from Alejandro, who had rejoined us after we had successfully forded the stream without being seen. It would have aroused too much suspicion for us to be seen leaving the grounds with the young Spaniard. But if we had been stopped and questioned alone, no one would have questioned our story: two girls hurrying to the bedside of a sick relative.
Alejandro led us to a side door and guarded it while we hurried through, both of us hooded and cloaked, only a few strands of Elizabeth’s reddish-gold hair peeping out to suggest her true identity.
He went through into the noisy taproom to speak to the harassed landlord, and returned a few moments later with a stinking tallow candle, gesturing us towards the unlit stairs.
‘The first room on the left upstairs,’ was all Alejandro said, but I caught a flicker of disapproval in his eyes.
I turned to the stairs, but there was a man descending, swaying slightly as he came. I glanced up and froze in shock at the sight of that familiar face.
My father!
My first impulse was to throw my arms about him, for I had not seen my father since he had taken me to Woodstock that spring to serve the princess. But then I remembered our secret mission, and the disguised princess at my side. I could not endanger Elizabeth’s life by announcing myself to my father, knowing our meeting might be observed by her enemies.
My heart beating hard, I drew back hurriedly into the shadows and threw my hood further forward to hide my face. Elizabeth too shrank back, burying her face in my shoulder.
When he had gone into the taproom, I straightened again and saw Alejandro’s questioning gaze on my face.
‘That was my father,’ I breathed. ‘Do you think he recognized me?’
Alejandro shook his head. ‘He was drunk.’ He touched my arm, frowning. ‘Let us hurry though, in case he comes back.’
Upstairs, there was a strong smell of urine, and behind that, the sweeter smell of something rotting. Elizabeth grimaced and cupped a hand over her nose and mouth. I too held my breath, feeling sick, and trying not to fret that my father was in the Bull Inn tonight. He had not recognized either of us, and he did not know Alejandro, so there could be no harm done. Yet I could not remember ever seeing my father drunk before. It left me uneasy, wondering if there was something wrong at home.
Alejandro knocked at the door. It was opened by a man in his late twenties.
Even in the dim flickering of the candle, I could see that this man was quite beautiful, with flowing hair past his shoulders and intelligent, light-coloured eyes. He looked other-worldly, yet wore a neat white ruff and dark, floor-length robes like a religious cleric.
‘Your Highness,’ the man said at once, turning his eyes to Elizabeth. He dropped to one knee before her.
‘For God’s sake, get up quickly, before someone sees,’ Elizabeth instructed him, and whirled into the candlelit chamber, throwing back her hood.
I followed her in silence, nervous but excited. My gaze moved at once to the broad desk under the window on which were arranged curious instruments of metal and glass, an untidy stack of documents and a small cask of wine with several glasses set out.
‘One hour,’ she told Alejandro firmly, who had stepped inside after us. ‘Hold the door for us, sir.’
Alejandro bowed, withdrew and closed the door behind him. I wondered if he would see my father again, and frowned.
Could there be some other reason why my father had ridden over here tonight, other than to drink in company? I knew he liked to visit the Bull sometimes, and often did so when my brother was at home to accompany him, for it was widely acknowledged to be one of the best inns for miles around. Yet it seemed the height of bad luck that we should have met him on the way up here. Of all the nights to have chosen . . .
Then I forgot my father’s presence as the man turned to me, his long-fingered hand taking mine and opening my palm to examine it.
‘But who is this?’ he murmured, starin
g into my eyes as he stroked my skin, tracing the lines on my palm, back and forth. I felt mesmerized, a cold chill running down my spine. ‘There is power here. Fear too, but power.’
‘She is no one. A country witch, that is all,’ Elizabeth said impatiently, and did not meet my surprised glance.
Why did she not want this man to know the extent of my powers? Though perhaps Elizabeth really did see me as a simple country witch, nothing more. That idea rattled me, but I said nothing.
‘Pardon, Your Highness,’ he said, ‘but will you introduce us?’
Elizabeth was clearly annoyed by his insistence. Yet she obeyed nonetheless. Again, I was surprised. I sensed that she was a little afraid of this man.
‘This is Meg Lytton, a maid of mine whose mother served at court when I was young.’ She hesitated. ‘Meg, this gentleman is Master John Dee, a great astrologer.’
‘Oh, not great yet,’ Master Dee said lightly, but he was smiling. I stared at him, for even I had heard of the famous astrologer John Dee. His fingers were still stroking my upturned palm, my hand held captive in his. ‘Meg Lytton, you say? Hmm, this one would make an excellent subject for my studies. Tell me, child, have you ever conjured the spirits of the dead and spoken with them?’
‘Sir . . .?’ I stammered.
‘Leave the girl alone,’ Elizabeth commanded him coldly, and he dropped my hand with obvious reluctance. ‘We do not have much time, Dee, so let us get to the matter in hand. In your note, you indicated that you had cast my sister’s horoscope, and had many secret and terrible things to tell me.’
‘Indeed.’ The astrologer nodded. His eyes narrowed to bright slits. ‘Your sister the Queen has not been as generous as I had hoped. I fear she listens to her priests too much, who find my work challenging. And so I have come to you with my findings instead.’
‘You need money?’ Elizabeth asked astutely.
‘To expand my library,’ he agreed smoothly. ‘And for my travels abroad. The most important books are rarely to be found in England, alas. But such endeavours cost me dear, and my family’s coffers are nearly empty.’
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. ‘I am a prisoner of my sister here, Master Dee. I have no money to help you build up your library.’
‘Indeed, my lady. But you may not always be a prisoner. Nor poor.’
Elizabeth’s eyes widened at the astrologer’s bold assertions. Yet still she hesitated, a habitual caution in her face. ‘You have proof of this?’
‘Astrology is a slippery art,’ he admitted, and smiled at us wanly. ‘The charts are not always easy to decipher. But follow me, my lady, and I shall be glad to show you what I have discovered.’
John Dee went to the desk and unrolled a sheet of parchment covered in dense marks and symbols. A quartered square had been drawn across it in a spidery hand. Carefully, with great delicacy, the astrologer placed paperweights at its four corners to prevent the parchment from curling up, and set out two chairs beside the table.
He held his hand out to Elizabeth in courteous invitation. ‘Shall we sit, my lady?’
The two sat together at the desk, heads bent over the parchment, and I stood awkwardly behind the princess, unsure of my place in this secret meeting. Was I here as chaperone to the princess or as apprentice to the astrologer? A little of both, perhaps.
Over the princess’s shoulder, I examined the diagram spread out on the desk. So this was a horoscope. My heart leaped with excitement, for I had never seen one before. I had told Elizabeth I knew how to read the future from the movements of the stars, but my knowledge was scanty and only extended to what my aunt had told me of the night sky. These tiny markings and endless rows of mathematical calculations meant little to me. It was a skill of which I had no understanding.
Quietly, John Dee began to describe what he had seen in Mary’s horoscope, pointing to each crowded sector of the square as he spoke.
I listened with fascination to the ancient names of the planets and their rulers, where they stood in Exaltation or were at their Fall. I quickly grasped Dee’s explanations, and felt almost disappointed when he drew his comments to an end. I knew there was much to learn about this ancient art. Yet I dared not ask any questions, for I had seen Dee’s gaze rise to my face several times as he spoke and feared drawing any further attention to myself.
‘So you see,’ he concluded, ‘this chart for the Queen’s wedding contradicts itself. It tells me your sister is to have a child, who would be heir to the throne of England, and yet that child’s fate is crossed by these malevolent stars. I cannot be sure if that means an early death for the babe, or whether the birth itself will be hard and the child ultimately healthy. In which case, of course, you would lose your claim to the throne.’
Elizabeth stared down at the horoscope for a long while, her face very pale. ‘No, Master Dee,’ she said in the end, and shook her head vehemently. ‘I feel it deep down here,’ she whispered, laying a hand on her belly, ‘in my gut. I shall be Queen of England one day.’
John Dee sighed but did not contradict the princess. Instead, his gaze moved curiously to my face. ‘What say you, Mistress Goldenlocks?’ he asked me. ‘Where does your skill lie? Can you read this horoscope?’
‘No, sir.’
I shook my head but already I was looking at the chart again, trying to decipher its strange symbols.
‘Here,’ John Dee murmured, standing so I could take his seat. ‘Sit at the table, girl. Take a closer look at the chart and tell me what you see. What draws your eye?’
I sat down at his urging and looked at the chart. Slowly, I traced a finger across the figures. To the right of the lower quadrant, I paused on an odd symbol. ‘What is this, sir?’
‘The planet Saturn.’
‘And these?’ I ran my finger halfway up the chart and paused on two other symbols which had been drawn very close together, almost on top of each other. There was a key to the side of the chart, but it was all in Latin, and I did not feel confident enough to tease out the crabbed black lettering.
‘That is Jupiter conjunct the Moon,’ he told me.
My fingers began to tingle and I felt a sudden headache nagging behind my temples. ‘And are they not clashing? Saturn, I mean, with these other two?’
John Dee smiled. ‘You are right, Meg Lytton. They are ninety degrees apart, and form a square to each other.’
‘A square?’ Elizabeth sounded impatient. ‘Don’t speak in riddles, Master Dee. Tell me plain what this means.’
‘Saturn is ninety degrees from Jupiter, which on this chart conjoins the Moon,’ John Dee explained, showing her the symbols on the chart. ‘Jupiter paired with the Moon suggests a child, for the Moon is the planet of motherhood and Jupiter the planet of fertility and increase. As I told you, this pairing led me to believe that your sister must be with child. But with the maleficent Saturn forming a square to their conjunction, I cannot be sure of that child’s fate.’
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. ‘Sir, is my sister to have a child or not?’
‘If she is,’ John Dee said hesitantly, staring at the chart, ‘the child may be stillborn. Or else the Queen herself may die during the birth.’
The princess stared at John Dee, her mouth slightly open, clearly taken aback by such a shocking suggestion. I suspected we were all thinking the same thing – that if the Queen were to die in childbirth, there would be no one to stand between Elizabeth and the throne.
She shuddered, then glanced at me as though for confirmation of what the astrologer had said.
‘What do you say, Meg?’
I laid my palm flat on the horoscope with its spidery symbols and numbers. It seemed to throb and pulse under my fingers as though alive. I closed my eyes and let my mind wander through what I had seen: the planets calling to each other across the chart, the tiny rows of numbers and Latin names, John Dee’s delicate handwriting.
I gasped as the answer burned itself into my brain, too incredible to speak aloud.
‘Well?’ Elizabet
h prompted me impatiently.
‘The Queen will not die. The Queen is not even with child,’ I whispered, barely able to believe my own words.
‘But all the rumours at court—’ John Dee began.
‘It is a false pregnancy,’ I hissed, cutting off his voice. ‘Yes, the Queen will begin to bloat. Her monthly courses will stop and her breasts will swell. Then her doctors will tell the world Queen Mary is to be a mother and all the church bells will ring in celebration. But there is nothing in her womb, and there will be no birth when the time comes for her lying-in.’
Elizabeth’s hand gripped my shoulder painfully. ‘You are sure?’
John Dee shook his head, staring at me. ‘There is no way for her to be sure. Not from this chart alone.’
‘Let the girl speak for herself.’
Shakily, I lifted my hand from the horoscope and the room seemed suddenly darker. The candles flickered in the draught, casting long thin-fingered shadows across the chart.
My hand had stopped tingling. The power was gone. Yet Elizabeth was still waiting for my reply.
I hesitated, frowning at the incomprehensible tangle of symbols, no longer certain what I had seen. Yes, the future of England had revealed itself to me in a sudden dazzling flash of insight. But now the vision had faded, I was left blinded and unsure of myself, unwilling to pretend a knowledge I did not possess.
‘I . . . I am not sure,’ I admitted, avoiding John Dee’s sharp gaze. ‘Master Dee is right. He is more skilled in these matters, perhaps we should listen to him. I am sorry, my lady.’
Elizabeth made an angry noise under her breath, then snapped her fingers at me to rise. ‘Come, we must get back to the lodge before I am missed. This meeting has been a waste of my time.’ She looked coldly at the astrologer. ‘I shall not require your services again, Master Dee. You might as well return to London. I only pray the Queen does not learn that you have visited me.’
‘She will not even suspect, my lady. The stars are most propitious tonight for matters of great secrecy.’
John Dee bowed very low, and opened the door for the princess to leave. As I trailed out in her wake, his gaze did not leave my face. The great court astrologer ought to have been annoyed by my interference in his fortune-telling, yet he seemed more fascinated than angry.
Witchstruck Page 11
