Alchemy

by Maureen Duffy

  ‘And the Boston memorial? Where did that come from?’

  ‘I found it in a bookshop specialising in incunabula and early manuscripts. I have quite a collection.’

  ‘What interested you particularly in this book?’

  ‘It was leafing through and realising that it was all in cipher, except that on the last blank page someone had written a key to the names represented by numbers in the text and Adrian Gilbert’s name caught my eye.’

  ‘You knew about him already?’

  ‘His name had cropped up from time to time.’

  ‘Dr Galton, what exactly did you give your students to read?’

  ‘I would prefer you to finish the whole book, or no, not perhaps that, but at least to have decided to represent me before we pursue that any further.’

  I let that pass. ‘Were you able to decipher the book yourself?’ I think I know the answer to this from Amyntas’ own words that she had used a cipher of her father’s but two can play this game of testing.

  ‘I could read it myself. It uses a fairly common, common to the alchemists that is, set of symbols, combined with a simple alphabetical displacement code.’

  ‘No need for a Ventris then.’ There’s something about Galton that makes me show off in this childish way, as if we’re in some schoolboy competition. ‘I’ve sent for an information pack from Wessex to get more background on them. Maybe I’ll register for a course just to get inside. Would you be willing to pay the fee if I decide it’s the only way in?’

  ‘Then you’ll take my case?’

  ‘I still don’t know if you have one. This is just preparatory investigation.’

  For the first time the irritating smugness drops away and he looks really gutted. I mustn’t start feeling sorry for the guy and give more than I’m ready to out of pity.

  ‘When will you make up your mind?’

  ‘I’ll call you,’ I say, ‘when I’ve come to some decision.’

  ‘Please at least pay in my cheque for what you’ve already done. Expenses must have been incurred…’

  ‘As long as it isn’t regarded by you as a contract.’ I type out a receipt with disclaimer and print it off. Galton signs it meekly. We shake hands. And yet I know I’ll take the case and not just because I need the bread. I’m hooked, like falling in love. You don’t feel the gaff go in that flips you gasping on to the bank, however much you twist and turn. You ignore the stab of the knives you’re suddenly walking on like the Little Mermaid, out of your rational element, in thin air that’s heady with the ecstasy of lust or power or the thrill of the chase.

  I think those words of my lady’s contriving will never leave me that I learned the next day and rehearsed with Secretary Samford in the forenoon. They are here with me now in my cell and I repeat them like some old receipt against the madness that threatens, for if I should lose my reason I should indeed lose all.

  The secretary began with the words of old Thenot:

  I sing divine Astrea’s praise,

  O Muses! Help my wittes to raise

  And heave my verses higher.

  Then I was to answer as Piers:

  Thou needst the truth but plainly tell,

  Which much I doubt thou canst not well,

  Thou art so oft a liar.

  And so we jousted through the verses in our litany of praise.

  He:

  Astrea is our chiefest joy,

  Our chiefest guard against annoy,

  Our chiefest wealth, our treasure.

  I:

  Where chiefest are, there others be

  To us none else but only she.

  When wilt thou speak in measure?

  He:

  Astrea may be justly sayd,

  A field in flowry robe arrayed,

  In season freshly springing.

  I:

  That spring endures but shortest time,

  This never leaves Astrea’s clime,

  Thou liest instead of singing.

  Thenot:

  As heavenly light that guides the day

  Right so doth shine each lovely ray

  That from Astrea flyeth.

  Piers:

  Nay darkness oft that light enclouds

  Astrea’s beams no darkness shrouds.

  How loudly Thenot lyeth.

  Coming all too soon as it seemed to me to the last verse he began:

  Then Piers of friendship tell me why,

  My meaning true, my words should lie

  And strive in vain to raise her.

  I answered:

  Words from conceit do only rise,

  Above conceit her honour flies;

  But silence, naught can praise her.

  As we ended we both fell upon our knees before the countess, for we spoke in homage to her who was our queen indeed however she might have writ for another and greater. I was aware of the richness of her dress of her favourite white silk sewn all over with pearls and the intricacy of her lace at throat and wrists, floating gossamer against the darkness of the hall as the winter day passed, lit only by sconces and the leaping flames from the hearth. There was much applause and our lady rising to her feet clapped her hands too and cried out, ‘Excellently done. I would that her majesty herself had seen it. Let more candles be brought and the music play now for dancing. Come, Piers who would praise by silence, and lead me out. I would not have you dumb for ever.’

  ‘Madam, as I have never acted before so too I have never danced.’

  ‘It is only to put one foot before the other in time to the music. Give me your hand. You will soon learn. Was there no dancing in your father’s house?’

  ‘His only visitors were old grey physicians like himself.’

  ‘Dancing is good for body and mind. You will see you have only to observe what others do and all is easy.’

  So I learned to lead my lady by her soft hand, to turn her about and gaze into her face and bow, and all the while my heart felt caged in my chest like some animal that would break forth. When the music stopped I bowed deeply and handed her to her chair where she sat fanning herself while she watched the other dancers. ‘We must have back the dancing master who taught my children so that you may learn new steps to please me, Amyntas.’

  ‘As my lady pleases.’

  ‘Your lady does please. There is no one else here I care to dance with.’

  Though my head swam with pleasure at this, nevertheless I saw that such a liking was dangerous if perceived by others, for now Mistress Griffiths approached and asked if she might borrow my lady’s dancing partner and on permission being given she said as we took our place: ‘Do not count on my lady’s favour to last for ever, boy, pretty as you are. Great ones are ever fickle and you will find yourself soon cast aside when your beard begins to grow and pustules come on that pretty cheek.’

  I quickly learned that where it had been my lady’s pleasure to encourage me, it was Mistress Griffiths’ to cause me to stumble. My lady had put out her hand to guide me even as she made it seem that the taking was mine. Mistress Griffiths held back so that I did not know which way to move until I got the trick of watching my neighbour from the corner of my eye.

  ‘You have much to learn of women as well as dancing,’ Mistress Griffiths said as we bowed to each other at the end of the coranto.

  ‘You must dance with the other my ladies Amyntas, or they will be jealous. But you must return to me again.’

  So I took out each one in turn and whether it was the music, the motion or the touching of hands and meeting of eyes, I felt myself lifted up in an eager body, proud and full of a new quick spirit that found an answer in my partners. Then I thought of Thenot’s words in praise of Astrea that she was both a ‘manly palm and a maiden boy’ and that I was myself indeed the two in one. And I found that I could cause the maidens I danced with, apart from Mistress Griffiths, to raise their eyes to mine and then to cast them down again simply by my own gaze upon their faces.

  My lady too observed all this which was a
kind of play acting, and whispered laughing. ‘Have a care, Amyntas, or you will have all the ladies in love with you and what does the player say: “that they had better love a dream”.’ Then she sighed. ‘How my brother would have smiled to see his Arcadia played out in this sport of ours. But you must beware Mistress Griffiths who is not as enamoured of you as the rest or inclined to fall under your spell. Her eye is on marriage for wealth and position not an idle dalliance with one of neither. She may yet unmask you and then I cannot save you.’

  I should have taken warning from this but I was too dazzled and besides she said it laughing as a thing of no importance and as if she jested merely.

  The next day I took a quiet horse and rode into Salisbury, pausing on the brow of the hill before the city to look down at the spires of its churches rising above the huddle of roofs, and, taller than all, the great needle of the cathedral piercing the winter sky. I rode down to the market where stalls were set up for the goose fair with all manner of birds, fishes and sweetmeats for the Christmas feast.

  I was afraid the noise would alarm the horse so I dismounted to lead it. Suddenly a young pig that had been tethered by a leg to a post bit through the thong that bound it and set off through the market square with a hue and cry after it. A young boy was nimblest and at last contrived to throw himself upon the piglet and pin it to the ground and was given a groat for his pains. Away from the market, and in the din of birds clucking in their baskets, wheels over cobbles and the bawling of the hucksters I mounted again and turned right through Green Croft, past the Pheasant and up towards our house beside St Edmund’s church where I had lived in what seemed a whole life ago. Now the house must be another’s. I stared at its dark windows and felt in a sudden rush the loss of my father as I had not done before then, so that tears came into my eyes. I had not wept till now.

  As I sat there on the patient animal whose flanks were wreathed in the mist of its own breath in the frosty air, a door was opened to the house of our former neighbour, Dame Milburn.

  ‘Why is that you Master Boston? I came out to see who had stopped at our door on such a fine horse. I am glad to see you for I have a packet that was come for your father and I not knowing where to send have kept it these three months.’ And she was gone back into the house before I could speak but soon to return with what I perceived from the shape must be a book. I got down from the horse to take it from her.

  ‘Why,’ she began again, ‘how you have grown and in such fine clothes too. Where may I find you if another such should come?’

  ‘I am in the Countess of Pembroke’s service and go with her wherever she goes to any of her houses but you may send for me at the great house at Wilton for her people there will know where she lies.’

  ‘And what news of your sister? Is she not married?’

  ‘She goes where I go, and is not yet married nor like to be. I thank you for this. I shall go into the church and say a prayer for my father.’

  ‘He was always a kind man to me and gave me physick freely whenever I was sick.’

  ‘And you would give us some of your baking in return.’

  ‘You shall have some now, Master Boston, for your father’s sake. I was all day baking yesterday against Christmas when my daughter will come visiting with her husband and little ones. But there is enough and to spare.’ And she was gone back into the house to return a moment later with an apple turnover in a napkin which she pressed upon me.

  ‘Thank you mistress. I will eat it on my journey back to Wilton.’

  I tethered my horse to the lychgate of St Edmund’s and went inside. I knelt above where I knew my father lay in the side aisle. Yet I could neither feel his presence nor find words to pray. Instead I vowed that one day he should have a monument upon the wall close by that all should know a great physician lay there who might have found out all the secrets of the world, one who was not proud but healed the poor and sick, that would not become a great lady’s lapdog. Then I began to question myself that I should be her amusement and be played with for her sport. But I was like a linnet straining at a silken leash who fears lest she indeed break it and be let fly away into hunger and dark.

  Soon I too grew cold and got to my feet again. It was as if a portcullis had come down between me and my old life so that I could only look through the bars but not touch what lay beyond. And how would it be if the gate were drawn up and I were thrust out, with the gate fallen to behind me and no way back? How could I enter again that former world?

  When I got back to Wilton it was nearly dark, the day being so short. ‘My lady is calling for you,’ the secretary said in a great fluster and wringing of hands. ‘You must go to her at once in her chamber.’

  ‘May I not shift my clothes a little?’ for they were greasy and stained from riding.

  ‘No you must come at once.’

  So I entered where my lady was pacing the floor and fell on my knee before her.

  ‘Where have you been? How dare you be absent when I need you.’

  ‘Madam I went to visit my old home and pray in the church where my father lies.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Well I suppose we must excuse filial piety. What have you there?’

  ‘I was still holding the little packet. It was something that came for my father. Our old neighbour gave it to me.’

  ‘Let us see what is in it. We are in need of some diversion. Bring it here.’

  And when I had given it to her: ‘I cannot read the marks on the seal.’ Her soft white fingers broke the red wax on the covering. ‘It must be undone fully to reveal its secret.’ Again her hands moved to press back the wrapping. ‘I believe it is a book.’ She took it out and opened the front cover. A letter was tucked inside it. ‘What is this? A book of love poems? De Magnete. The work of William Gilbert, physician to the queen’s majesty. The letter is addressed to your father. What does it say Amyntas?’

  She handed it to me. I unfolded it and began to read. ‘He does not know that my father is no longer living. It says madam, that he would value my father’s opinion on the book, whether his idea be right or no. He hopes that my father is well and continuing with his experiments. That they are both old men with little time before them and must do what they can while they may.’ I felt the tears begin to start in my eyes again.

  ‘You weep for your father child, as I weep still for my brother,’ the countess said putting out a hand to take mine. ‘That is becoming in you.’ The tears still flowed but at her touch I felt again the rush of heat in my secrets and my heart rise up in my chest as if to burst. ‘Ah Amyntas, you are too soft-hearted. The world is a harsh place,’ and she drew me to her, pressing me to her bosom where with the scent of her and its touch I felt myself near to swooning.

  ‘Go and shift yourself child,’ she said pushing me from her. ‘You stink of horseflesh. Come back to me when you smell more sweet.’

  ‘That will be never then madam,’ Mistress Griffiths said for she had stood by all this time in the hope to hear my lady chide me or even to see me put out of her service.

  I hurried then to shift myself as the countess bid lest Mistress Griffiths should do me an injury in my absence. Taking a sconce I made my way along the dark passages to the armoire by my pallet where I was used to hang my clothes, and rinsed my hands and face in a basin of rosewater for sweetness. But when I returned to my lady’s chamber I found her mood altogether changed. Signor Ferrabosco had been sent for to sing to her a song of her brother Sir Philip.

  What have I thus betrayed my liberty?

  Can those black beams such burning marks engrave

  In my free side? Or am I born a slave

  Whose neck becomes such yoke of tyranny?

  Virtue awake, beauty but beauty is.

  I may, I must, I can, I will do

  Leave following that, which it is gain to miss.

  Let her go: soft, but here she comes go to,

  Unkind, I love you not: O me, that eye

  Doth make my heart give to my tongue the lie.r />
  The last sighings of the lute strings died away. ‘Are my dear brother’s verses not beyond compare? When will there be some such another again? Bring me my purse Mr Samford.’ And she took from it a gold piece and gave it to the musician. ‘You have earned this not just by the composing of the music but by the singing and playing of it. Even Tom Morley could not have set it better. But it has made me melancholy. What sport have we?’

  ‘Madam,’ the duenna said, ‘the mummers await you in the great hall with their play of Christemas as is your custom to see and hear at this season, if it please you now. Or they may come again another time.’

  ‘No let us go in to them. Their antics will lift this blackness from me.’

  So we took our places with the whole household gathered together and the mummers began on their play of St George and the Turkish Knight that was such a piece of flummery, with its quack physician, Dame Betty, and mock fights between the two knights, that my lady was soon laughing. Then they fell to a morris with pipe and tabor, with fool and hobby horse and finally to the wassail: ‘God bless the mistress of the house’, which pleased my lady so much she clapped her hands to it and rose up to dance herself with me.

  After, Mr Samford led them away to be feasted and given their Christmas box and we too went to our supper. That night it began to snow and in the morning it lay a carpet six inches deep. Nevertheless we took coaches and with my lady’s chaplain rode into Salisbury to be there for public prayer for the Nativity with great solemnity and excellent singing of the cathedral choristers. Then we returned to dine in great state off many dishes of fish, meat and fowl brought in with a flourish by the servingmen accompanied on the fiddles. Many healths were drunk to her majesty, the countess, the country of Wiltshire, Wilton and the gentry present, for there had come several from roundabout with their wives to celebrate with my lady. There we drank also to absent friends, the young earl and other of the countess’ children as Master Philip who stayed with his tutor in Oxford and the Lady Anne who lay with her aunt at Penshurst so that my brains swam, for as a man I dare not refuse to drink as the ladies might.