by Lucy Weston
The scheming, ungrateful creature! How dare she pit herself against me! I, who offered her the world? So great was my disappointment that I could think of nothing save to regain the manor and hide myself away in the chamber beyond the library where not even Blanche was permitted to enter. Too frustrated to even consider feeding, I lay on my velvet-draped bier, contemplating what had happened.
Anne would never have been able to attack me so boldly. What power she had from Morgaine’s line was only enough to make her of potential use to me, nothing more. I had assumed it would be the same with Elizabeth, but now seemingly disconnected events compelled me to consider a far different possibility.
A queen choosing to die by the sword when she could have saved herself by allying with me. The arcane signs and symbols protecting her motherless daughter. Dee’s prattling about a conjunction of the stars that comes only once in a millennium. The light rising from the grave. The smell of roses.
Anne loved roses. But so did Morgaine, who wore them as her emblem. Her power surpassed any that I had managed to acquire over all the centuries, even to the extent of granting her glimpses of the future. Had she seen where three slain queens would be buried? Where they could serve as a conduit for her own power to return into the world with the coming of her one, true heir?
Did she lie there, too, all this time? Waiting?
If my fevered musings had any foundation at all, I faced a vastly more serious danger than I could have imagined, yet with it came the chance to undo at last the loss that still haunted me.
Morgaine, alive again in Elizabeth! My love returned to me, but this time as my true companion and ally. I must win her to my side. Enraged though I was by her effrontery, the potential rewards of forbearance proved too great a temptation to resist. I would wait, giving her time and opportunity to see the error of her ways. When she did—
I imagined her in my arms, beneath my touch, her taste forever on my lips, the sweetness of her surrender made all the more piercing by the challenge she presented. The sensation filled me with almost unbearable longing, yet I was still able to draw upon the deep reserves of patience and fortitude that the centuries had instilled in me. Only a little time more, I told myself, and all my desires would be fulfilled now and for eternity.
Floating on moonlight, adrift in memories, I succumbed to that most treacherous of mistresses—hope.
Evening, 16 January 1559
Lamps have been lit in my chamber. As I slept, darkness has crept over the city. I sit up with a start. How could I have let so many hours slip by while I idled uselessly? That is the act of a weak woman, not of a queen. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I am about to rise when Kat inches the door open and peers in. Seeing me, she hurries to my side.
“Please, dearest, let me help you. Are you feeling better? May I fetch you some ale or perhaps cider? Will you eat?”
“Enough of that,” I say briskly. “I must dress. Is Cecil here?”
She frowns, clearly prepared to cosset me for far longer than I will allow. “He is, just outside and growing a bit impatient, if I may say. He is not alone.”
I am relieved to hear it. “Quickly, there is no time for anything elaborate. Decent will have to do.”
Kat helps me into chemise and petticoat, and drops a simple skirt of embroidered ivory damask over my head. I fidget impatiently as she laces me into a matching boned bodice and attaches the separate sleeves. When she tries to put up my hair, I swat her hands away.
“Leave it; he will have to take me as I am.” I pinch what color I can into my cheeks and muster a smile.
“Dear Cecil,” I say when he all but hurtles into the room, scowling in anticipation of whatever it is that he expects to find. Myself still incapacitated, perhaps? Too exhausted and weak to be of any use? I hope that my Spirit knows me better, but if he does not, he is about to learn.
Robin is hard on his heels. He comes to me at once and clasps my hands in his. “Are you all right? What happened? I would have come sooner but I thought—”
I press his hands in turn and say softly, “It is as well that you did not. I am merely tired, nothing more. As for that fool who attacked me—”
“He is dead.”
I pull back a little, staring at him. “What? Who is dead?”
“The man who tried to kill you. He had poison hidden on his person. As soon as he was thrown into a cell, he took it. The guards found him dead mere minutes later.”
My breath hisses through my teeth. “Who knows of this?”
“Almost no one. Cecil warned the guards on pain of death to say nothing. But this leaves no doubt that it was a serious attempt to assassinate you.”
“I never thought it was anything else,” I reply, still keeping my voice low. “Very well then, we must determine what is to be done.”
With good cheer that I am far from feeling, I bid Kat leave me with Cecil and Robin. A third man, unknown to me, steps forward. He sketches a passable bow, a little stiffly, but what else is to be expected from those not born to the skill? He is all in black but for a modest flash of white at his throat, the uniform of the self-made man. I am surrounded by such men, another legacy of my father’s. He saw them as useful and perhaps they were, but I wonder if at the end of his days, Henry did not quail at the upheaval he had unleashed. Has any man so conservative in his nature ever more grandly overturned the world?
“This is Francis Walsingham,” Cecil says by way of introduction. “Lately returned from the Continent, where he has proved his worth in various challenging situations. He has certain skills that I thought might prove useful to Your Majesty.”
I incline my head in acknowledgment of the somber, long-faced man, who does not take his gaze from me. He looks like a young schoolmaster but his eyes appear far older than his years. I know of Cecil’s habit of trying out new men on missions abroad before deciding whether to bring them into his service. My Spirit is rigorous in his vetting of such men, and never more so than with one he is introducing to me directly. Apparently, this one has impressed him.
“What sort of skills would that be, Mister Walsingham?” I inquire.
His smile is fleeting and so filled with sweet sorrow that I can only wonder at the view of humanity he harbors. “I am a ferreter out of truth, Majesty. I seek it in the dark places where others prefer not to go. I smell it out, as it were, and when I see it, I know it infallibly for what it is … or is not.”
“Infallibly?”
“So much as any man may. I thank Your Majesty for the opportunity to serve you.”
“As to that, we shall see.” I sit and bid them do the same. Cecil takes the chair that I always insist he use because of the pain his gout causes. Robin and Walsingham make do with stools.
“It is my understanding that Doctor Dee would be joining us.” Surely I made it clear that I expected him to do so. Great though my respect is for the magus, he will need a better than average excuse for his absence.
“I have sent word to his lodgings, Majesty,” Cecil says. “He is only slightly delayed, having been occupied with a matter of great importance.”
“What would that be?” Robin has moved his stool so that he is close beside me. I watch Walsingham watching him and wonder how much the ferreter out of truth already grasps.
“Something to do with an astral configuration that he believes portends great events,” Cecil explains. “In the meantime, Majesty, might I ask you to hear what Mister Walsingham can tell us?”
I incline my head in permission, curious to learn why Cecil favors him.
“Majesty,” Walsingham begins, “as Sir William indicated, I returned recently from the Continent, where I have been pursuing inquiries touching on your security.”
“What inquiries? Be precise, man, Cecil should have told you that I have little patience for dithering.”
Robin chuckles but his humor fades quickly when Walsingham, who appears unaffected by my tartness, replies, “I have been looking into the activities of tho
se known as vampires. Much remains to be discovered about them but I have had some success in penetrating their dens.”
His matter-of-fact manner startles me, all the more so because of the shock I still feel at confronting the existence of such beings. At the same time, I realize what has happened here. Cecil, knowing that the time of my awakening was close at hand, must have set out to discover all he could about the vampires, the better to equip me to fight them. As much as I appreciate his foresight, his failure to inform me rankles.
“Then you know that they are real?”
“Indisputably, Majesty. I encountered references to them on the Continent, including claims that they had come to England in distant times and are still present here. At first, I dismissed the story, but I have since concluded that it is true.”
“And why,” Robin asks, “have you done so?”
“Because since my return I have sought and found them here. They frequent particular areas of London, always at night and either singly or in small groups. They maintain a certain discretion—”
“How many of them are there?” I ask abruptly.
“It is impossible to say, Majesty. They are adroit at concealing themselves. However, if one could be captured, questioning could yield useful information.”
Cecil shoots Walsingham a hard look, making it clear that any such suggestion has not been cleared with him in advance, as it should have been. Walsingham will be reprimanded for such a lapse, I am sure, but whether it will matter to him remains in doubt. Even on short acquaintance, I perceive that he is guided by his inner urges rather than concern for what others think. That could make his advancement in life difficult but for the fact that his thinking seems to run alongside mine.
“Do you have any idea how such a capture could be accomplished?” I ask.
“The vampire must be rendered insensible long enough for him—or her—to be bound with chains of silver. My inquiries indicate that the metal has a considerable dampening effect on their strength. Prolonged exposure may even bring about death, but that would not be our immediate objective.”
“You actually believe that you could hold one of them long enough to force him to talk?” Robin inquires.
Walsingham nods. “I do.”
Reluctantly I disagree, “From what I have seen of Mordred, that is unlikely. His strength is far too great.”
“But the others are not as strong as their king,” Walsingham counters. “He permits no one to achieve a level of power that could challenge his own authority. It is probable that only a very few of them possess strength even remotely approaching his.” He pauses, glancing at Cecil, then adds, “Or yours, Majesty.”
I raise a brow. “Or mine? Are you that well informed, Mister Walsingham?” Willing as I am to accept my Spirit’s confidence in the man, this surprises me.
Before the schoolmaster can respond, Cecil interjects, “It may interest Your Majesty to know that Francis’s stepfather, Sir John Carey, was related to your mother by marriage and stood high in her confidence. She relied on Sir John for certain sensitive matters pertaining to your safety. Francis has been preparing for the task of protecting you since he was a tender youth.”
A memory stirs. I recall Kat mentioning that my mother did not much care for William Carey, who had wed her sister, Mary, but made her a poor husband. However, my mother thought far better of his brother, John. In her extremis, might she have turned to him for help in keeping me safe?
“Then you are most welcome in my service, Mister Walsingham,” I say.
That he knows of my awakening simplifies matters greatly. What he proposes makes good sense, but to capture a vampire of any sort will be a daunting task. I am considering the implications of that when a page knocks on the door to inform us that Doctor Dee has arrived. The magus comes with an air of preoccupation, as though his mind still lingers on whatever great matter delayed him.
Dee sketches a quick bow. “Forgive me, Majesty. I would have been here sooner, but I thought it best to confirm my findings without delay.”
Without standing on ceremony, he draws from within his robes a scroll and lays it out on a nearby table. We all peer at what proves to be an astrological chart, showing the planets and constellations as we know them.
“For some time now,” Dee says, “I have been watching a traveler who appeared first within the house of Cancer, but is now resident within Leo. Although indistinct at first, I am certain now that the traveler is a comet, and that, if it continues on its appointed course, it will enter Virgo very shortly, perhaps this night.”
My hands grip the arms of my chair. As everyone knows, comets are harbingers of great events, particularly concerning royalty. My own affinity to Virgo is obvious, but I am uncertain what to make of the presence of a comet in that constellation at such a time. Fortunately, Doctor Dee is able to enlighten me.
He rolls up the scroll as he says, “This transit of the constellations, combined with other signs, heralds the coming of a decisive moment in Your Majesty’s queenship. You have an opportunity to demonstrate your power or, contrarily, to bow before the blow that is being struck at you. The choice is yours.”
So far as I am concerned, that concludes the matter. The heavens give me warning that if I do nothing, I will be signaling my weakness, which will surely embolden Mordred even more.
“Tell the court that in order to assure my swift recovery from what ails me, I will remain in my chambers tonight.”
The revelries surrounding my coronation will have to go on without me. I have other matters to attend to.
“If Your Majesty needs more rest—,” Cecil begins, but breaks off when I rise from my chair.
“Mister Walsingham, you will show me these places that are frequented by vampires.”
“Absolutely not!” Robin declares, but he is all but drowned out by Cecil’s swift protestations.
“Unthinkable!” my Spirit exclaims. “Your Majesty’s safety—”
“Does not exist!” I declare, on my feet, determination surging through me. I am Queen! I will not be controlled by anyone—man or vampire. Nor will I take refuge in lies and deceit that can, however well-intentioned, only harm me.
“Mordred came right into this palace! No barrier could stop him and I was barely able to compel him to leave. In truth, he claimed to do so only because he still believes that I will yield to him. God forbid that he be proved right! I must learn how to use this power of mine, otherwise I will fall to him as Arthur did, and where will my kingdom be then?”
I assume my case to be persuasive beyond all questioning, but more than that, I assume that I will be obeyed. Unfortunately, I am wrong on both counts.
“This is madness,” Robin insists. He, too, is on his feet, glaring at me with no pretense of deference to my will or respect for my authority. “You only just survived an assassination attempt. Now you want to put yourself directly in the path of one or more of those unholy beings?”
Cecil shoots him a grateful look so out of keeping with the usual tension between them that it catches me off guard. “Your Majesty’s person is far too precious. We will seek out an appropriate target, and when every measure for your protection has been taken, then you can—”
“Do not think to direct me so!” I interrupt, raising a hand to cut him off. “You and Doctor Dee arranged for me to acquire this power. You, least of all, can caution against its use. I will not sit here, behind walls that offer no protection, while my people are stalked by evil and the very soul of my realm is at risk.”
As I speak, the reasonable enough fear that I feel at confronting Mordred again falls away. Once more, I sense the singing light rise within me. Nor am I alone. The faces of the men change markedly at the same moment, and I realize that they are seeing me transformed.
Driven by curiosity I cannot resist, I look beyond them to the tall, gold-framed mirror set on its own stand near the fireplace. Since my ascension to the throne, I have seen myself in that glass many times, usually garbed as a
queen to meet my people, which is to say as an icon of hope and faith. But never have I seen myself like this. My body is wreathed in light; only my face and the fiery glory of my hair are visible. I appear an otherworldly creature of eerie beauty.
The light ebbs slowly but a faint halo of luminescence remains all around me.
Robin is breathing hard as though he has received a great shock. I can scarcely blame him. Dee has paled but his eyes glitter with exhilaration. Walsingham smiles as though pleased by this affirmation of my power.
“At least allow me to summon guards to accompany us,” Cecil says finally. He cannot take his eyes from me.
With an effort, I wrench my gaze from the mirror. “No guards. We cannot risk anyone else finding out about this. Cecil, you will remain here at court to deflect curiosity. I will tell my ladies that I am not to be disturbed by any but you. Let it be known that I am recovering well.”
“Majesty—” Cecil looks so anguished by my decision that I cannot help but regret causing him such distress. But queens are made of sterner stuff than ordinary folk. No amount of concern for him or anyone else will sway me from my course.
“This is not a matter for debate, Sir William. Mister Walsingham, are you prepared to guide me?”
“I am, of course, Majesty—”
“Not without me,” Robin says. “If you will allow no other guard, you will at least accept my protection.”
“And my own,” Doctor Dee adds quietly. It does not escape my notice that he has made no effort to dissuade me. Nor has Walsingham. Either they value my life less than do Robin and Cecil or they are less blinded by sentiment.
“I have no skill with a sword,” Dee adds, “but I do have certain other means available to me should we encounter any difficulty.”
So it is settled—Cecil will remain behind to conceal my absence while Robin, Dee, Walsingham, and I take to the streets of London, hunting a vampire who might be persuaded—by whatever means necessary—to yield useful information. I confess to a surge of excitement as I contemplate so daring a quest.
