Was this a trick? I wondered feebly. Was it still part of my ordeal, to be allowed a tantalizing moment of freedom before being jerked back to my iron bonds?
Miguel de Pero said something in Spanish and the guard came forward to help me to my feet, his hands rough and unfriendly, his face dark with contempt.
I picked up my soiled cap, wiped my freshly bleeding mouth on my sleeve, and staggered to the door before my captor could change his mind. My first thought was that I had to get back to the princess, to satisfy myself that she had not been harmed. I was still concerned over how exactly my freedom had been achieved, but at least this question of her involvement with Master Dee might now be dropped.
It occurred to me that my hands were free again now, and my mouth no longer gagged. I could use my magick to hurt them as they had hurt me, or to make them run mad and dash themselves down the brutal stone steps of the tower.
But no, it would still be too clear to everyone who could have worked such a spell upon them, and I would soon find myself back in this cell with another zealous torturer – only this time there would be no reprieve.
Glancing back at Señor de Pero, I saw the same contempt in his eyes. Like master, like servant. It was clear they both believed me to be a witch, bound for the everlasting bonfires of Hell, and they were right to do so. Yet neither of them could do a thing about it.
SEVEN
Release
Nursing my swollen and bleeding hand against my chest, I limped back to the Lady Elizabeth’s apartments in the thin dawn light, accompanied by two disapproving Spanish guards. Passing through hallways and richly decorated, high-ceilinged chambers, I found a new excitement in the air of Hampton Court. The palace was alive with servants already awake and bustling about their duties, courtiers staggering bleary-eyed from their beds, doors slamming and shouts in the distance. I watched as several serving women bent over a dark wooden chest, arguing about what to put in; they seemed to be packing the chest with jewel-encrusted clothes and shoes.
Along one of the long corridors in the east wing, I caught the faint din of hammering, its echoes muffled by the lavishly-embroidered tapestries hanging on the wall. Curious, I hobbled to the window. Looking down into the stable yard below, I saw groomsmen at their work, leading out horses to be reshod by the leather-aproned farrier. Beyond the farrier’s glowing brazier lay a covered wagon on its side with two men crouched over it, replacing one of its thick-spoked wheels.
I glanced at my two Spanish guards as we turned down towards the princess’s apartments, but their faces revealed nothing. It seemed the court would soon be on the move again, leaving Hampton Court to be swept and purified. A good thing too, for the palace rooms and grounds were now unpleasantly pungent, the enclosed privies buzzing with flies and everyone choking on the stench of the gong farm where many months’ sewage lay waiting to be shovelled out.
But how could the court be allowed to leave the royal residence while the Queen was still locked away in her birthing room? Unless Queen Mary had given birth while I was hanging by my wrists in that dark little cell? Perhaps I had been kept there longer than I realized.
‘Meg!’
For once Blanche Parry seemed genuinely delighted to see me. She had been sewing with Alice as I came into the room, but jumped up from her seat when she saw me, abandoning her stitchwork to clasp my hands.
Blanche did not seem to notice my wince as she squeezed my abused hand. ‘The Lady Elizabeth will be so pleased that you are back,’ she exclaimed. ‘She has been awake since dawn, awaiting your return. Come, her ladyship will want to see you at once.’
Blanche dismissed the guards with a sharp-eyed look and ordered a relieved Alice to finish the stitchwork on her own. Then she led me into the sunlit princess’s bedchamber, whispering conspiratorially in my ear, ‘You look pale. And you are limping. Did those vile men hurt you? Forgive me for having given them your name. I could not help it, truly I could not. They tortured me until I no longer knew what I was saying.’
‘I forgive you,’ I managed hoarsely, though it was said with an effort.
The Lady Elizabeth was sitting up in bed with her head bent, studying some leather-bound tome with great intensity. She laid her book aside as soon as she saw me, staring rigidly at my face as though she hoped to read all my secrets there.
‘Blanche, shut the door,’ she said shortly, then gestured me closer. ‘Well? What did you tell them?’
‘Nothing, my lady,’ I reassured her.
She did not believe me, that was clear. Her eyebrows were raised as she gazed coldly across at me, no doubt examining my dirty face for the telltale signs of torture. I could hardly blame the princess for distrusting me. Few survived a day and a night in a cell with the Inquisition and came forth with their consciences clear. And the Lady Elizabeth’s secrets were enough to condemn her thrice over.
‘Nothing?’ she echoed. ‘And they let you go?’
‘I was told that someone had interceded on my behalf with King Philip, and His Majesty had ordered my release,’ I said, and a note of bitterness crept into my voice. ‘I am grateful for my freedom, of course, but Alejandro de Castillo should never have interfered. This will cost him his hope of becoming a priest.’
Elizabeth looked astonished. ‘Alejandro?’
‘Who else?’
‘No, no,’ she said, shaking her head. She seemed relieved now that she had heard me out. ‘It was not the young novice who went to the King. It was Sir Henry Bedingfield.’
It was my turn to stare. Sir Henry Bedingfield had been the princess’s gaoler at Woodstock. ‘I don’t understand, my lady.’
‘I owe him a debt of gratitude for this,’ Elizabeth said, and smiled at my frowning bewilderment. ‘I could not allow them to torture you, Meg. Not only are you my servant, but you know things . . . things I would never wish the Inquisition to discover. It was imperative to achieve your release as soon as possible. So I wrote a note to Sir Henry yesterday and begged him, for my sake, to speak to the King about this matter and explain that the accusations against you at Woodstock had been false. I had only a short reply from him last night, to say that he would do his best. And now you are here, albeit filthy and bruised, so it seems my former gaoler was true to his word.’
‘Sir Henry Bedingfield agreed to speak to the King on my behalf?’ I stood amazed, remembering how much the man had mistrusted me at Woodstock. I could not imagine why he should have agreed to clear my name. ‘But why?’
Elizabeth’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. ‘Because,’ she murmured, throwing aside her covers and swinging her legs out of bed, ‘Sir Henry is no fool. He knows I may not always be a disgraced princess, and that if I should ever come to power, he would rather be remembered for having helped to free my servant from the Inquisition than for having been my gaoler at Woodstock for the better part of a year.’
So it was not Alejandro who had spoken up for me. I felt a foolish moment of disappointment, then joy that he would not suffer because of me. I helped the Lady Elizabeth out of bed, though in truth I was in no fit state to be serving anyone, let alone a princess of the House of Tudor. My shoes stank, my legs were shaking badly, and I knew my face and gown must be filthy, encrusted with dried blood and sweat.
‘Señor Miguel de Pero told me a letter had arrived from Oxfordshire, accusing you of meeting John Dee secretly. He did not say who wrote it.’
Elizabeth had been shrugging into the ivory-coloured robe that Blanche was holding out for her. She froze at my words, looking round at me in horror. ‘I was not told of this. Who could have written such a letter?’
It was time to share my suspicions with her. ‘I have been wondering that myself, my lady, and I can think of only one man. Marcus Dent.’
Her eyes widened with fear. ‘The witchfinder? But I thought you said he was as good as dead, that you had dealt with him?’
‘I thought him beyond recovery,’ I admitted, then lowered my voice. ‘But I may have been wrong. The letter did no
t accuse me of being a witch though. So if it is from Marcus Dent, my charm to prevent him speaking of my witchcraft is still working.’
‘Well,’ she muttered, ‘that is good news, at least.’ Elizabeth wrinkled up her nose as she passed me on her way to her dressing table. ‘Merciful heavens, what is that appalling stench?’
‘Forgive me, my lady,’ I said awkwardly. ‘That stench is me. I badly need to take a bath and change my gown. I should have cleaned myself before I came to your chamber. But Blanche thought you would want to see me first.’
‘I did, yes,’ she agreed sharply. ‘I have been worrying myself to death half the night. But now you should certainly take yourself away and bathe. And perhaps burn that gown. You smell like a pony that’s fallen in the mire.’
I almost smiled. ‘I feel like one too.’
Elizabeth looked away, and I suddenly remembered how desperately she had begged me to summon her mother’s spirit. I had failed her there. The spell had gone wrong, though I was not yet sure how. But it seemed she had forgiven me for my failure.
‘My lady,’ I said quietly, ‘before I leave you, I must tell you something else. On my way back from the east wing, I saw servants packing chests and horses being reshod as though for the road. I could be mistaken, but it seems to me that the court is getting ready to move.’ I hesitated, seeing the princess glance sideways at Blanche. ‘Has the Queen given birth?’
Blanche let out a little cry of fear, then hurried to make sure the door was shut.
‘Hush, keep your voice down. These walls have ears.’ Still in her plain nightgown, Elizabeth came nearer, and her face was alive with barely suppressed excitement. ‘There was a rumour about the court after they took you away yesterday, a rumour that the Queen was no longer with child. We waited all day, expecting news of a stillbirth, or some indication that an heir had been born and died. No news came. Then late yesterday evening Blanche heard a story from one of the tirewomen, who had heard it from one of the Queen’s ladies, that there had never been a baby. That the Queen had not been with child at all.’
‘Not with child?’
‘It seems she and her doctors were mistaken about the pregnancy,’ Elizabeth whispered. ‘So the court will be moving to Oatlands by the end of the month, and although I am to accompany them there, I must not live too near. I think Her Majesty has no wish to see my face about the court, reminding her that she has no other heir but me. Instead, she is making provision for me to stay near the court at Oatlands, in a little house of my own.’
I did not know what to say, but bent my head as Elizabeth paced restlessly back and forth. There was much to think about in what she had said. ‘I am pleased for you, my lady.’
Elizabeth snapped her fingers for Blanche to bring her a shawl, for the fire had gone out and the bedchamber was chilly. ‘I begged again to be allowed to return to my childhood home at Hatfield. But the Queen sent a note this morning, forbidding it absolutely.’
I stared, still reeling from the news that the Queen had not been pregnant after all.
‘Meg, it was just as you said that evening at the Bull Inn,’ she reminded me in a whisper. ‘You knew, even before we were sure that she was carrying a child, that my sister’s pregnancy was not a true one. You told us, but I did not believe you.’
‘The chart . . .’ I breathed, suddenly recalling how John Dee had shown me the Queen’s horoscope and asked me to interpret it, and I had declared that there would be no child.
Elizabeth put a finger to her lips, urging caution. ‘You have a great power within you, Meg Lytton. Greater even than I realized. But we must be careful not to let them know it or they will try to destroy you.’
I nodded my agreement, and again nursed my swollen hand as it began to throb and ache.
Elizabeth caught sight of my tortured hand, the red scalded flesh and the fingernail that had been ripped out, and hissed angrily. ‘Is that what the Inquisition did to you? But that is monstrous.’
She clapped her hands. ‘Blanche, where is your salve for scalded flesh? Hurry away and fetch it!’
I allowed the princess to take my injured hand and press it gently, though the pain made me sick. ‘It will mend in time, my lady,’ I managed hoarsely, not wishing to have a fuss made over it.
The door opened and I looked over my shoulder, gritting my teeth in agony, expecting to see Blanche there with the healing salve. But it was not Blanche. It was Alejandro de Castillo standing quietly in the doorway, the priest’s robes gone, a white silk shirt and fine red doublet in its place, his cloak thrown back to reveal his sword.
I drew a sharp breath, his presence like a burning light in a dark room, and felt myself slip uselessly to the floor.
I woke to find myself in Alejandro’s arms, being carried like a child to the bedchamber I shared with Blanche and Alice.
‘What are you doing?’ I demanded, furious with myself for having shown such weakness before him. But I knew it had not been my fault. The pain in my wounded hand had become suddenly unbearable, and no doubt my mind had closed like a door against its terrible fire. ‘Put me down! I must smell awful!’
‘You do,’ he agreed calmly.
Mortified by that reply, I said nothing else, but wished the earth would swallow me up.
Reaching my bedchamber, Alejandro obliged by setting me down on the narrow cot in which I slept when I was not tending the princess at night. He shut the door and fumbled to light a candle, for the place had no window and was dark as pitch.
His face was grim as he approached the bed, candle in hand. ‘Show me,’ he ordered me, and I laid my hand in his, not bothering to hide the extent of my hurts. He examined me briefly, then took a pot of salve from his pouch and began to unstopper it. ‘I seem to be forever mending your hurts.’
I said nothing, but set my jaw as he began to apply the salve. My skin stung horribly. My lips twitched, but I kept my hand steady in his, determined not to cry out or faint like a fool again.
His fingers moved most swiftly where the skin was redraw. I drew breath, struggling against faintness, and Alejandro glanced up at my face.
‘I did not think to see you alive again,’ he muttered savagely. ‘Do you enjoy putting yourself in danger? Is death a game to you?’
‘Where is Blanche?’ I countered, ignoring his anger with a little fury of my own. ‘Or Alice? I should not be alone with you, Señor de Castillo. Or do you want the world to know we are secretly betrothed? Because I do not think your masters will be too happy about the arrangement, a young Catholic novice promising himself to a suspected Protestant witch.’
‘Shut up,’ he said thickly, and took me by the shoulders. He stared down at my lips, still sore from the coarse gag they had used on me, then kissed both my cheeks instead, my eyelids, my chin. ‘Why did you not use your power against them? Look what they have done to you.’
‘If I had used my power against them, as you put it, then everyone would have known what I am, and the princess would have been arrested and tried for harbouring a witch.’ I managed a lopsided smile. ‘So I did the only thing I could do, which was hold out.’
Alejandro looked down at my battered hand, at the shiny red scalds, at the bloodied finger where my nail had been ripped out, then he raised his gaze to my face. ‘You are the bravest woman I know, Meg Lytton.’
‘Then you do not know very many,’ I replied sharply. ‘If he had used a hot brand on me, I would have told him everything. I would have betrayed everyone I have ever known, even you, even my brother, even the Lady Elizabeth herself. I would have sworn the Queen’s sister could fly like a bat and turn herself into a snake if de Pero had tortured me long and pitilessly enough.’
I held up my hand. ‘This is nothing compared to what he wished to do to me, given the chance. I saw it in his face whenever I cried out in pain. Señor de Pero is like Marcus Dent, I fear. He is a cruel man who believes utterly in the ways of the Inquisition, and he enjoys inflicting pain.’
‘I shall kill him!’
‘No, for then you would be condemned for his murder and there would be another torturer in his place within a day. It’s better to wait and see what will happen at court. The Lady Elizabeth tells me the Queen has all but admitted she is not with child and the court is moving on to another royal house. So there will be no heir to supplant Elizabeth. The Queen is too old to have a child, and everyone knows it. Perhaps the feud will be over between them now.’
Alejandro managed a wry smile. ‘My love, they are sisters of the same father by different mothers. There will always be a feud between them.’
I winced at the pain in my hand, and he bent again to kiss me, this time on the mouth, but exquisitely gently so he would not hurt my stinging lips. His lips were the best medicine on earth. The aches and pain of my tortured body were soon forgotten as I floated away on a sweet dream of pleasure and comfort.
‘You should sleep,’ he commented, and stroked my hair. ‘Sleep first, then rise and bathe. I will send the girl Alice to help you.’
‘I do not need a servant!’
‘Let her be a friend, then. But you cannot bathe alone. You are hurt, and your hand will not be strong enough to pour the water.’
Reluctantly, I accepted the wisdom of this and let him lay me down to rest. The luxury of a warm scented bath such as the princess sometimes had before the fire; that would be welcome. Yet already my head was drowsy and I longed to close my eyes for a space.
Had I imagined all this? My release from the torturer’s cell, his kisses, this soft bed? Perhaps I was still being tortured by Miguel de Pero and had fainted with pain and terror. Perhaps Alejandro was only here in a dream I was having, not flesh and blood at all. Indeed, now that I was lying back on the soft covers, I found it hard to see his face clearly, my vision was so weak and blurred.
Witchfall Page 9
