Shadow of Night

by Deborah Harkness

  Wait for me in my privy chamber, Walter. Take Bess with you. We shall join you presently.”

  “But—” Bess protested. She looked about nervously. Staying near the queen was her job, and without protocol to guide her she was at sea.

  “You shall have to help me instead, Mistress Throckmorton.” Cecil took several painful steps away from the queen, aided by his heavy stick. As he passed by Matthew, Cecil gave him a hard look. “We will leave Master Roydon to see to Her Majesty’s welfare.”

  When the queen waved the grooms out of the room, the three of us were left alone.

  “Jesu,” Elizabeth said with a groan. “My head feels like a rotten apple about to split. Could you not have chosen a more opportune time to cause a diplomatic incident?”

  “Let me examine you,” Matthew requested.

  “You think to provide me care that my surgeon cannot, Master Roydon?” said the queen with wary hope.

  “I believe I can spare you some pain, if God wills it.”

  “Even unto his death, my father spoke of you with longing.” Elizabeth’s hands twitched against the folds of her skirt. “He likened you to a tonic, whose benefits he had failed to appreciate.”

  “How so?” Matthew made no effort to hide his curiosity. This was not a story he had heard before.

  “He said you could rid him of an evil humor faster than any man he had ever known—though, like most physic, you could be difficult to swallow.” Elizabeth smiled at Matthew’s booming laughter, and then her smile faltered. “He was a great and terrible man—and a fool.”

  “All men are fools, Your Majesty,” Matthew said swiftly.

  “No. Let us speak plainly to each other again, as though I were not queen of England and you were not a wearh.”

  “Only if you let me look at your tooth,” Matthew said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Once an invitation to share intimacies with me would have been sufficient inducement, and you would not have attached further conditions to my proposal.” Elizabeth sighed. “I am losing more than my teeth. Very well, Master Roydon.” She opened her mouth obediently. Even though I was a few feet away, I could smell the decay. Matthew took her head in his hands so that he could see the problem more clearly.

  “It is a miracle you have any teeth at all,” he said sternly. Elizabeth turned pink with irritation and struggled to reply. “You may shout at me when I am done. By then you will have good reason to do so, as I will have confiscated your candied violets and sweet wine. That will leave you with nothing more damaging to drink than peppermint water and nothing to suck on but a clove rub for your gums. They are badly abscessed.”

  Matthew drew his finger along her teeth. Several of them wiggled alarmingly, and Elizabeth’s eyes bulged. He made a sound of displeasure.

  “You may be queen of England, Lizzie, but that doesn’t give you a knowledge of physic and surgery. It would have been wiser to heed the surgeon’s advice. Now, hold still.”

  While I tried to regain my composure after hearing my husband call the queen of England “Lizzie,” Matthew withdrew his index finger, rubbed it against his own sharp eyetooth so that it drew a bead of blood, and returned it to Elizabeth’s mouth. Though he was careful, the queen winced. Then her shoulders lowered in relief.

  “’Ank ’ewe,” she mumbled around his fingers.

  “Don’t thank me yet. There won’t be a comfit or sweetmeat for five miles when I’m through. And the pain will return, I’m afraid.” Matthew drew his fingers away, and the queen felt around her mouth with her tongue.

  “Aye, but for now it is gone,” she said gratefully. Elizabeth gestured at the nearby chairs. “I fear there is nothing left but to settle accounts. Sit down and tell me about Prague.”

  After spending weeks at the emperor’s court, I knew it was an extraordinary privilege to be invited to sit in the presence of any ruler, but I was doubly grateful for the chance to do so now. The voyage had exacerbated the normal fatigue of the first weeks of pregnancy. Matthew pulled out one of the chairs for me, and I lowered myself into it. I pressed the small of my back against the carving, using its knobs and bumps to give the aching joints a massage. Matthew’s hand automatically reached for the same area, pushing and kneading to relieve the soreness. Envy flashed across the queen’s features.

  “You are in pain, too, Mistress Roydon?” the queen inquired solicitously. She was being too nice. When Rudolf treated a courtier like this, something sinister was usually afoot.

  “Yes, Your Majesty. Alas, it is nothing peppermint water will solve,” I said ruefully.

  “Nor will it smooth the emperor’s ruffled feathers. His ambassador tells me that you have stolen one of Rudolf’s books.”

  “Which book?” Matthew asked. “Rudolf has so many.” As most vampires had not been acquainted with the state of innocence for some time, his performance of it rang hollow.

  “We are not playing games, Sebastian,” the queen said quietly, confirming my suspicion that Matthew had gone by the name of Sebastian St. Clair when he was at Henry’s court.

  “You are always playing games,” he shot back. “In this you are no different from the emperor, or Henry of France.”

  “Mistress Throckmorton told me that you and Walter have been exchanging verses about the fickleness of power. But I am not one of those vain potentates, fit for nothing save scorn and ridicule. I was raised by hard schoolmasters,” the queen retorted. “Those around me—mother, aunts, stepmothers, uncles, cousins—are gone. I survived. So do not give me the lie and think to get away with it. I ask you again, what of the book?”

  “We don’t have it,” I interjected.

  Matthew looked at me in shock.

  “The book is not in our possession. At present.” It was doubtless already at the Hart and Crown, safely tucked into Matthew’s attic archive. I’d passed the book to Gallowglass, wrapped in protective oilskin and leather, when the royal barge had pulled alongside us on our way up the Thames.

  “Well, well.” Elizabeth’s mouth slowly widened, showing her blackened teeth. “You surprise me. And your husband too, it seems.”

  “I am nothing but surprises, Your Majesty. Or so I am told.” No matter how many times Matthew referred to her as Lizzie or she called him Sebastian, I was careful to address her formally.

  “The emperor seems to be in the grip of some illusion, then. How do you account for it?”

  “There is nothing remarkable about that,” Matthew said with a snort. “I fear the madness that has afflicted his family is now touching Rudolf. Even now his brother Matthias plots his downfall and positions himself to seize power when the emperor can no longer rule.”

  “No wonder the emperor is so eager to keep Kelley. The philosopher’s stone will cure him and make the issue of his successor moot.” The queen’s expression soured. “He will live on forever, without fear.”

  “Come, Lizzie. You know better than that. Kelley cannot make the stone. He cannot save you or anyone else. Even queens and emperors must one day die.”

  “We are friends, Sebastian, but do not forget yourself.” Elizabeth’s eyes glittered.

  “When you were seven and asked me if your father planned to kill his new wife, I told you the truth. I was honest with you then, and I will be honest with you now, however much it angers you. Nothing will bring your youth back, Lizzie, or resurrect those you have lost,” Matthew said implacably.

  “Nothing?” Elizabeth slowly studied him. “I see no lines or gray hairs on you. You look exactly as you did fifty years ago at Hampton Court when I took my shears to you.”

  “If you are asking me to use my blood to make you a wearh, Your Majesty, the answer must be no. The covenant forbids meddling in human politics—and that certainly includes altering the English succession by placing a creature on the throne.” Matthew’s expression was forbidding.

  “And would that be your answer if Rudolf made this request?” Elizabeth asked, black eyes glittering.

  “Yes. It
would lead to chaos—and worse.” The prospect was chilling. “Your realm is safe,” Matthew assured her. “The emperor is behaving like a spoiled child denied a treat. That is all.”

  “Even now his uncle, Philip of Spain, is building ships. He plans another invasion!”

  “And it will come to nothing,” Matthew promised.

  “You sound very sure.”

  “I am.”

  Lion and wolf regarded each other across the table. When at last Elizabeth was satisfied, she looked away with a sigh.

  “Very well. You don’t have the emperor’s book, and I do not have Kelley or the stone. We must all learn to live with disappointment. Still, I must give the emperor’s ambassador something to sweeten his mood.”

  “What about this?” I drew my purse from my skirts. Apart from Ashmole 782 and the ring on my finger, it contained my most treasured possessions—the silken cords that Goody Alsop had given me to weave my spells, a smooth pebble of glass Jack had found in the sands of the Elbe and taken for a jewel, a fragment of precious bezoar stone for Susanna to use in her medicines, Matthew’s salamanders. And one hideously ornate collar with a dying dragon hanging from it that had been given to me by the Holy Roman Emperor. I placed the last on the table between the queen and me.

  “That is a bauble for a queen, not a gentleman’s wife.” Elizabeth reached out to touch the sparkling dragon. “What did you give to Rudolf that he would bestow this upon you?”

  “It is as Matthew said, Your Majesty. The emperor covets what he can never have. He thought this might win my affections. It did not,” I said with a shake of my head.

  “Perhaps Rudolf cannot bear to have others know that he let something so valuable slip away,” Matthew suggested.

  “Do you mean your wife or this jewel?”

  “My wife,” Matthew said shortly.

  “The jewel might be useful anyway. Perhaps he meant to give the necklace to me,” Elizabeth mused, “but you took it upon yourself to carry it here for its greater safety.”

  “Diana’s German is not very good,” Matthew agreed with a wry smile. “When Rudolf put it over her shoulders, he might have been doing so only to better imagine how it would look on you.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” Elizabeth said drily.

  “If the emperor intended this necklace for the queen of England, he would have wished to give it to her with appropriate ceremony. If we give the ambassador the credit he is due . . .” I suggested.

  “There’s a pretty solution. It will satisfy no one, of course, but it will give my courtiers something to cut their teeth on until some new curiosity emerges.” Elizabeth tapped the table pensively. “But there’s still the matter of this book.”

  “Would you believe me if I told you it wasn’t important?” Matthew asked.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No.”

  “I thought not. What of the opposite—that the future may depend upon it?” Matthew asked.

  “That is even more far-fetched. But since I have no desire for Rudolf or any of his kin to hold the future in their grasp, I will leave the matter of returning it to you—should it ever come into your possession again, of course.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I said, relieved that the matter had been resolved with relatively few lies.

  “I did not do it for you,” Elizabeth reminded me sharply. “Come, Sebastian. Hang the jewel around my neck. Then you can transform yourself back into Master Roydon and we will go down to the presence chamber and put on a show of gratitude to amaze them all.”

  Matthew did as he was bid, his fingers lingering on the queen’s shoulders longer than was necessary. She patted his hand.

  “Is my wig straight?” Elizabeth asked me as she rose to her feet.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” In truth it was slightly askew after Matthew’s ministrations.

  Elizabeth reached up and gave her wig a tug. “Teach your wife how to tell a convincing lie, Master Roydon. She will need to be better schooled in the arts of deceit, or she will not survive long at court.”

  “The world needs honesty more than it needs another courtier,” commented Matthew, taking her elbow. “Diana will remain as she is.”

  “A husband who values honesty in his own wife.” Elizabeth shook her head. “This is the best evidence I have yet seen that the world is coming to an end as Dr. Dee foretold.”

  When Matthew and the queen appeared in the doorway to the privy chamber, a hush fell over the crowd. The room was packed to the rafters, and wary glances darted from the queen to a youth the age of an undergraduate I took to be the imperial ambassador, to William Cecil and back. Matthew released the queen’s hand, which was held aloft on his bent arm. My firedrake’s wings beat with alarm inside my ribs.

  I put my hand on my diaphragm to soothe the beast. Here be the real dragons, I silently warned.

  “I thank the emperor for his gift, Your Excellency,” Elizabeth said, walking straight toward the teenager with her hand extended for him to kiss. The young man stared at her blankly. “Gratias tibi ago.”

  “They get younger all the time,” Matthew murmured as he drew me next to him.

  “That’s what I say about my students,” I whispered back. “Who is he?”

  “Vilém Slavata. You must have seen his father in Prague.”

  I studied young Vilém and tried to imagine what he might look like in twenty years. “Was his father the round one with the dimpled chin?”

  “One of them. You’ve described most of Rudolf’s officials,” Matthew pointed out when I shot him an exasperated glance.

  “Stop whispering, Master Roydon!” Elizabeth turned a withering glance on my husband, who bowed apologetically. Her Majesty continued, rattling on in Latin. “‘Decet eum qui dat, non meminisse beneficii: eum vero, qui accipit, intueri non tam munus quam dantis animum.’” The queen of England had set the ambassador a language examination to see if he was worthy of her.

  Slavata blanched. The poor boy was going to fail it.

  It becomes him who gives not to remember the favor: but it becomes she who receives not to look upon the gift as much as the soul of the giver. I coughed to hide my chortle once I’d sorted out the translation.

  “Your Majesty?” Vilém stammered in heavily accented English.

  “Gift. From the emperor.” Elizabeth pointed imperiously at the collar of enameled crosses draped over her slim shoulders. The dragon hung down further on Her Majesty than it had on me. She sighed with exaggerated exasperation. “Tell him what I said in his own language, Master Roydon. I do not have the patience for Latin lessons. Does the emperor not educate his servants?”

  “His Excellency knows Latin, Your Majesty. Ambassador Slavata attended university at Wittenberg and went on to study law at Basel, if my memory serves. It is not the language that confuses him but your message.”

  “Then let us be right clear so that he—and his master—receive it. And not for my sake,” Elizabeth said darkly. “Proceed.” With a shrug, Matthew repeated Her Majesty’s message in Slavata’s native tongue.

  “I understood what she said,” young Slavata responded, dazed. “But what does she mean?”

  “You are confused,” Matthew continued sympathetically in Czech. “It is common among new ambassadors. Don’t worry about it. Tell the queen that Rudolf is delighted to give her this jewel. Then we can have dinner.”

  “Will you tell her for me?” Slavata was completely out of his depth.

  “I do hope you have not caused another misunderstanding between Emperor Rudolf and me, Master Roydon,” Elizabeth said, plainly irritated that her command of seven languages did not extend to Czech.

  “His Excellency reports that the emperor wishes Your Majesty health and happiness. And Ambassador Slavata is delighted that the necklace is where it belongs and not missing, as the emperor feared.” Matthew looked at his mistress benignly. She started to say something, closed her mouth with a snap, and glared at him. Slavata, eager to learn, wanted to know how Matthew had ma
naged to silence the queen of England. When the ambassador made a gesture to encourage Matthew to translate, Cecil took the young man in hand.

  “Delightful news, Excellency. I think you’ve had lessons enough for one day. Come, dine with me,” Cecil said, steering him to a nearby table. The queen, upstaged now by both her spy and her chief adviser, harrumphed as she climbed the dais, helped up the three low stairs by Bess Throckmorton and Raleigh.

  “What happens now?” I whispered. The show was over, and the room’s occupants were displaying signs of restlessness

  “I will wish to talk further, Master Roydon,” Elizabeth called while her cushions were being arranged to her satisfaction. “Do not go far.”

  “Pierre will be in the presence chamber next door. He’ll show you to my room, where there’s a bed and some peace and quiet. You can rest until Her Majesty frees me. It shouldn’t take long. She only wants a full report on Kelley.” Matthew brought my hand to his lips and gave it a formal kiss.

  Knowing Elizabeth’s fondness for her male attendants, it could well take hours.

  Even though I was braced for the clamor of the presence chamber, it knocked me back a step. Courtiers not sufficiently important to warrant dining in the privy chamber jostled me as they passed, eager to get to their own dinner before the food was gone. My stomach flipped over at the scent of roasted venison. I would never get used to it, and the baby didn’t like it either.

  Pierre and Annie were standing by the wall with the other servants. They both looked relieved as I came into view.

  “Where is milord?” Pierre asked, pulling me out of the crush of bodies.

  “Waiting on the queen,” I said. “I’m too tired to stand up—or eat. Can you take me to Matthew’s room?”

  Pierre cast a worried look at the entrance to the privy chamber. “Of course.”

  “I know the way, Mistress Roydon,” Annie said. Newly returned from Prague and well into her second visit to the court of Elizabeth, Annie was affecting an attitude of studied nonchalance.

  “I showed her milord’s room when you were led away to see Her Majesty,” Pierre assured me. “It is just downstairs, below the apartments once used by the king’s wife.”