Fool's Paradise

by Tori Phillips

  Elizabeth’s lips curled back, baring her teeth like a cornered animal. “Oh, ‘twill not be a sad duty for Sir Robert La Faye! I am sure he is looking forward to it with the greatest of pleasure!”

  Shutting her ear to Charlotte’s sympathetic chatter, Elizabeth pondered what she must do. Hugging the pillow for comfort, her fingers touched a small scrap of paper hidden there. Drawing it out into the light, Elizabeth again read Tarleton’s message, “Play the play.” Very well, that was exactly what she intended to do.

  “Lay out my black velvet gown, Charlotte, then find me every bright colored ribbon you can,” she instructed her startled maid. “Get Lady Anne to help us, for we have much work to do before two o’clock!”

  Sir Robert La Faye looked forward to Tarleton’s execution with relish. It was the perfect wedding present. He could not wait to see the tearstained face of his bride as she beheld the grisly end of her lover. It had taken him a bit of wheedling for the Queen to grant his request that Elizabeth be present at Tarleton’s end. Sir Robert smiled at himself smugly in his looking glass. Once he was married to the Queen’s little hellcat, Sir Robert was safe forever and his possibilities at court were boundless.

  Sir Robert arrived at the door of Elizabeth’s apartments a few minutes before the appointed hour. To his surprise, she was already waiting for him. When he saw her, his jaw dropped in astonishment.

  “You cannot wear that!” he bristled angrily at her.

  Elizabeth lifted her chin, meeting his furious gaze straight on. “I was commanded to wait upon you at two o’clock. I was not told what I may wear.”

  “I forbid you to go out in that…that fashion!” His eyes narrowed into red slits.

  Elizabeth eyed him with cold triumph. “I am my own mistress until six o’clock tonight. I will do exactly what I please until then. Come, my lord, we burn daylight!” Sweeping regally past him, she snapped her fingers for him to follow.

  Sir Robert glowered as he went down the stairs after her. But after six this evening, you will dance another tune, mistress!

  All heads turned to stare as Elizabeth walked toward the waiting coach. From ruff to hem, her black gown was festooned with hundreds of colorful ribbons tied in love knots. The ends fluttered gaily in the breeze like so many brave flags. Pinned among the ribbons were clusters of tiny bells that jingled as she moved. Her treasured brass bell hung from her waist; its richer tone was heard above the rest. The silver A, newly polished, blazed on her breast.

  In his desire to humiliate her, Sir Robert had ordered an open carriage so that his grief-stricken betrothed would make a fool of herself, when she cried in public for her convicted lover. Now, as they were helped into the coach, Sir Robert cursed his overweening vanity.

  Dry-eyed, Elizabeth held herself like a queen; her unfettered white-golden hair flew about her head in the cold November wind. The stinging air brought a bright color to her cheeks, making her all the more beautiful to behold.

  Three figures watched from an upstairs gallery window as the carriage pulled out of the courtyard.

  “My goddaughter makes a brave show,” remarked the Queen. “With a few ribbons, she outshines all my jewels.”

  “Even if you were in your petticoat, you are always Gloriana,” replied Sir Walter with the smoothness of a seasoned courtier. Secretly he concurred with the Queen’s assessment.

  Sir Francis Walsingham said nothing, but he permitted himself a wintry smile.

  The gathered crowd on Tower Hill was larger than Elizabeth had expected. Word spread like wildfire among the citizens of London that the popular member of The Queen’s Men, Tarleton, was to be executed. Sir Robert’s carriage was hemmed in by the pressing mob.

  A wooden platform had been erected on the highest point of ground. A stout crosstree loomed over it. There was a festival air about the place as the people watched the arrival of other dignitaries. The burly executioner, with his black mask concealing his face, drew special applause.

  Elizabeth shuddered at the sights around her. She prayed that Sir Robert wouldn’t notice the true state of her emotions.

  “‘Twas thoughtful of Her Majesty to provide a bit of spectacle for this otherwise drab day,” mocked Sir Robert. He fully intended to make the most out of this occasion, no matter how outrageously Elizabeth chose to display herself. He was not going to be cheated of his revenge upon the man who dared to thwart his plans. “Look, my dear! Someone is selling hot nuts. Over there, I spy cider and sweetmeats. Would you like something to eat?”

  Ignoring him, Elizabeth concentrated on the empty place of execution, willing herself to remain strong. I must play this part to the end. I will grieve later.

  A roll of drums announced the arrival of the prisoner. Elizabeth felt momentarily dizzy. She took a deep breath as she saw the crowds part, allowing two rows of pikemen to pass through them. In the middle of the armed guard, she could just make out Tarleton’s white shirt and his bare dark head. The crowd grew more excited as they watched the escort and condemned man mount the stairs of the gallows.

  A soft gasp escaped Elizabeth’s lips. How magnificent he looks! His shirt, open at the throat, displayed his broad chest and rippling muscles. His face freshly shaved, Tarleton laughed as he walked through the crowd—now talking with one of his guards—now throwing a jest to some of the bystanders. In fact, Tarleton looked exactly as he did before a performance.

  “That rogue has no sense of decency,” muttered La Faye, disappointed that the jester was not groveling. “Ah, well, just wait until they put the rope around his neck!”

  With another drumroll, the captain of the guard stepped forward to read the charge and sentence. While he intoned the legal language, Tarleton scanned the crowd. Startled when he first spied Elizabeth, his dark brown eyes softened at the sight of her. Though his hands were tied behind his back, he managed a small bow in her direction. His eyes widened in surprise and his whole face spread into a smile when he saw her proudly stand up in the carriage. Her rainbow-hued ribbons made a cheerful display as she publicly acknowledged her love for him.

  “Sit down, damn you!” Sir Robert hissed, feeling extremely annoyed, as all eyes turned to look at Elizabeth.

  “I have a knife in my hand,” she said calmly, clutching the fruit knife she had secreted within the folds of her skirt. “If you put a finger on me, I will cut it off!”

  Sir Robert stared at her, complete surprise on his face. Then he drew back when he caught sight of the blade.

  A loud cheer from the crowd greeted the captain of the guard when he announced that Tarleton would not suffer a traitor’s death. By the Queen’s mercy, he was to be merely hung by the neck, escaping disembowelment. Afterward, his body would be permitted a Christian burial, instead of being carved into pieces with his head affixed atop a pike on London Bridge.

  Closing her eyes momentarily, Elizabeth thanked both God and the Queen. At least, her beloved would not suffer too much.

  The drum rolled a third time, then Tarleton stepped forward to make the customary speech from the gallows. The crowd grew quiet. A scrivener, leaning against the base of the platform, poised with a lead pencil to jot down Tarleton’s last words. By evening, those words would be printed on souvenir broadsides, and sold all over London town.

  Elizabeth clenched her fists. In one hand she held her knife; in the other was the brass bell.

  “Good people, I thank you for coming to see my farewell performance.” Tarleton’s infectious grin and witty words brought a roar of approval from the crowd. They especially enjoyed it when the condemned made a good show, and Tarleton was a master at showmanship. “Though this stage is not as large as I would have liked, at least today I am to play the leading part in a tragedy.”

  Elizabeth could scarcely believe her ears and eyes. Her sweet Dickon was laughing and jesting only a few short moments before his death! The fire of his smile lit up his handsome face. The chill wind ruffled through his thick brown curls. Glowing with her pride of him, Elizabeth stood
motionless in the carriage, her eyes drinking in his every gesture. Fuming, Lord La Faye sank lower into the seat.

  “Dance a jig for us, Tarleton,” a man in the crowd called out.

  Tarleton’s smile deepened into laughter. “Aye, ye shall see me dance by and by. ‘Tis called the ‘Hangman’s Jig.’ You’ll have to be the judge if I do it right well, for I hope to be singing with an angel by then. And I pray to the good Lord that she’s a fair-haired angel.” The crowd cheered these courageous words. Tarleton stared directly at Elizabeth; his gaze spoke poetry to her. “Aye, an angel with golden hair and green eyes and dressed in the colors of the rainbow. That is heaven, my friends!”

  The captain of the guard spoke in a low tone to Tarleton. Nodding, his expressive face changed and became more sober.

  “I am told to be brief. ‘Tis hard, when I have a captive audience.” A grin tempted the corners of his mouth. “The matter is this—they say my crime is treason, and, as my judges are wittier than I, I bow to their opinion. But ‘tis more true to say that I am to die this afternoon for the love of a lady.”

  His gaze caught Elizabeth’s face and held it, promising her his love. Many faces turned in her direction. A murmur of appreciation rippled through the crowd.

  “If I offended Her Majesty, then I am heartily sorry for it. If my act offended the lady, then I am most sorry for that, as well.” His voice grew stronger, carrying over the heads of the throng. “But I am not sorry that I loved the lady. I would give my heart away to her again, if she did not have it already.”

  Hot tears stung Elizabeth’s lashes. Vowing not to cry, she returned Tarleton’s smile. I cannot let his last look at me be one of sorrow. Lifting her fingers to her lips, she kissed their tips, then sent her kiss winging toward the bound man standing so bravely in the shadow of the gallows tree.

  A collective sigh carried on the wind. Some of the women actually sniffled at the sight.

  “Sit down, Elizabeth!” growled Sir Robert behind her. “You have shamed us both with your bold behavior.”

  Elizabeth did not acknowledge that she had heard him.

  Tarleton threw back his shoulders. “And so, my friends, here is my epilogue—live well each day, for each day is a gift. Love God, and love your Queen as I have tried to do, for Her Grace is the most loving, the most wise, and the most merciful of rulers. God bless you all this cold day, for coming to see me off. God save our good Queen Bess!” He lifted his rich voice to the heavens. “And may the Lord love and protect my sweet Robin Redbreast!” Across the sea of faces that separated them, Tarleton sent his message to Elizabeth with eyes that bespoke of his eternal love.

  The executioner pulled Tarleton to the center of the platform, under the crosstree, where a sturdy rope had been flung over the top. Stepping forward, a shivering clergyman muttered a blessing over Tarleton’s bowed head. Then the hangman placed the noose around the player’s neck. For one last instant, Tarleton looked back at Elizabeth, flashing her a brilliant smile. In that split second, he wiggled his brows in their familiar signal—play the part!

  The drums began a long, ominous roll. Elizabeth gripped the bell tighter, its metal digging into her flesh.

  With a quick jerk, the executioner released the trapdoor and Tarleton’s body swung freely in the air. His face went very red as his legs thrashed about, seeking the foothold that was no longer there.

  Rising, La Faye gripped the stricken Elizabeth firmly by the shoulders. “Don’t turn your pretty head away now, my dear,” he purred, observing Tarleton’s death throes with a wicked gleam of pleasure. “This is the best part!” Pinching Elizabeth’s face between his fingers, he forced her to look upon the dance of death.

  Tarleton’s body suddenly went limp; his head lolled forward. Leaping to the rope, the executioner cut him down. Then he passed the body to a waiting carter, who dropped it into an open pine box in the back of his wagon. Sliding the lid over the coffin, the carter jumped into his seat, then drove off toward the forbidding bulk of the Tower. It was all over in two minutes.

  Elizabeth gratefully sank down again.

  “The knot must have broken his neck,” mused Sir Robert. He looked and sounded extremely disappointed. “Such an easy death! I had hoped he would swing longer. I fear your player cheated his last audience out of a good show.”

  Merely glaring at him, Elizabeth silently drew the lap rug over her gown. The driver made their slow way back through the city and over London Bridge to the south bank, then on to Greenwich Palace. Throughout the long ride, Elizabeth spoke not a word, nor did she look at her sadistic escort. All her thoughts were fastened to the lone gallows tree on Tower Hill.

  “I trust you will be in a better mood anon,” remarked Sir Robert when they alighted at Greenwich. “You have not much time to dress for our wedding. Then, mistress mine, you had best sing a different tune!” Abandoning Elizabeth on the steps, he stomped angrily away.

  When Elizabeth reached the safety of her apartments, Charlotte and Lady Anne greeted her with sobs and embraces. Elizabeth’s stoic response surprised and deeply concerned them.

  “Oh, ma petite, you must be freezing. Poor dear! Let me get you out of this gown….”

  “Non!” said Elizabeth hoarsely. “I shall remain as I am. Do me the kind office of taking these ribbons and bells off. And, please, may I have some wine?”

  Lady Anne poured a small goblet of warmed, spiced wine while Charlotte took out her scissors from her sewing basket. Elizabeth drank deeply.

  “No, Charlotte, do not cut them.” She stopped her maid. “Pull the ribbons off!”

  “Afla petite, it will tear the dress!”

  “Aye,” said Elizabeth coldly. “Tear it to tatters. That is how I will be married—in shreds and rags. That’s all that’s left of me now.”

  Charlotte and Lady Anne exchanged apprehensive glances, then they stared at the stony-eyed, pale girl. Taking a deep drink, Elizabeth began ripping at the colored bits of satin.

  “Let the whole court see exactly what I feel!”

  Sir Robert La Faye was relieved that the simple wedding ceremony took place in the Queen’s private chapel with only a few people present. Originally he had hoped for a more public solemnization followed by a large wedding feast so that all the court would acknowledge his closer ties to the Queen. However, considering that the silent Lady Elizabeth chose to be married in a shocking state of disrepair, Sir Robert decided it was just as well to keep the ceremony lowkey. As it was, he had already heard several courtiers whispering darkly about Elizabeth’s sanity. As long as he was married to her, Sir Robert did not care what her state of mind was. After a few solemn words in front of a cleric, Sir Robert emerged a very rich, powerful man.

  The wedding supper followed immediately afterward in the Queen’s apartments. Despite the fine imported French wine and the presence of a gifted lute player, the gathering was anything but festive. Elizabeth spoke only a few words, most of which were directed to the Queen. Sir Robert’s bride barely glanced at her new husband. For her part, the Queen was surprisingly solicitous, sitting close to her goddaughter, even feeding her dainties from the royal plate.

  Elizabeth deeply appreciated the Queen’s sudden kindness. She smiled wanly at her godmother as she ate the sweetmeats that were offered, though she barely tasted what she put into her mouth. Her mind was fixed upon the coming hours. I must let him touch me, she steeled herself. My baby must be safely legitimate. She was tempted to drink a great deal of wine to blot out what was to come, but she recalled Philip’s admonitions against it, and she resisted the impulse. I wish this night were over.

  After supper, Elizabeth was led away by Lady Anne and Lady Mary for the ceremonial bedding.

  “You look too pale, my love,” reflected Lady Mary, brushing Elizabeth’s hair.

  “Wouldn’t you?” retorted Lady Anne as she tied a ribbon on the sleeve of Elizabeth’s simple shift. “Look at the pig who is her husband!”

  Lady Mary sighed and nodded. “Be strong
, dear heart,” she whispered to the unblinking Elizabeth. Placing her cheek against the younger woman’s, she noticed Elizabeth’s skin was as cold as her emerald eyes.

  “Thank you,” said Elizabeth finally, as the ladies helped her into the large bed, strewn with rose petals. “You have both been more than kind to me, and I shall not forget it.”

  Just then the door opened and Sir Robert La Faye, dressed only in his nightshirt, was pushed inside, followed by the Queen and her guests. Not that the bridegroom needed much encouragement. The bloated toad clambered eagerly into the bed, a silver goblet clutched in his hand.

  “Pour me more wine, Seaton,” he giggled unpleasantly to his body servant. “I have some thirsty work ahead of me!”

  A few people in the room tittered nervously. Sir Robert’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at his stiff bride beside him. Then he smiled with forced gaiety at the Queen, her maids and Walsingham, who stood at the foot of the bed.

  “As you can see, we are well and truly bedded!” He waved his cup, spilling some wine on the sheets.

  “Yes, Sir Robert,” echoed the Queen lightly, “before all these witnesses, you are truly wedded and bedded. May you both enjoy a happy marriage until death do you part!”

  The Queen kissed her goddaughter warmly on the forehead, tactfully wiping away a small tear that hung in the corner of Elizabeth’s eye.

  “May you have many happy blessings,” Elizabeth of England whispered to Elizabeth La Faye.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Elizabeth answered woodenly.

  “And now, good night to you both!” cried the Queen as she swept out the door on the arm of her chief minister, her hushed ladies following.

  Sir Robert’s manservant was the last to leave. Giving his master a leering wink, Seaton closed the chamber door with a doleful thud.

  “Now, my sullen bitch, we are alone.” Sir Robert rolled his great bulk on his side. His eyes burned into her with hot lust.

  Elizabeth tensed herself, not daring to meet his gaze. Reaching out a paw, he stroked her face, allowing his hand to wander down to her breasts. Elizabeth didn’t move. The smell of sour wine mixed with onions on his breath turned her stomach. She wished she could fall into a trance until after he was finished with her. She prayed that he was drunk enough not to notice her belly was no longer flat. Underneath her pillow, she gripped a small vial of pig’s blood that she would use after her husband fell asleep. In the morning the stained sheets would be her testimony of virtue, and so insure her child’s rights.