Crimson Night Part 22

"I'm sorry about Michael," she said quietly.

"So am I, Meghann. Four hundred years later I am still sorry for his death. But that was just the start of my problems."

"That's right after he died, Alcuin told me you got syphilis."

"We called it French pox then. Did he tell you I got it from Isabelle?"

Simon laughed at her sharp gasp. "No, pet, she wasn't unfaithful. After Michael's funeral, Doctor Ahmed drew me to the side. He asked if I'd noted Isabelle's appearance how thin she was, that her hair was falling out in clumps, her fits of raving. He examined her and decided she had the pox must have contracted it from my brother, Roger, because she was too far along in the disease to have gotten it any later. Doctor Ahmed said I would not know if I had the illness until my hair fell out and I too needed sleeping herbs to keep me restrained. So I began my quest to develop the philosophers' stone and the freedom from death and disease it would deliver before the pox could claim my mind."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

London, England

May 14, 1592

"G.o.d's foot, sir," Elizabeth Tudor greeted as she accepted Lord Baldevar's arm and stepped from her royal barge onto the river quay behind his handsome rose-brick mansion. "Who is this devilishly handsome Turk in place of my English hawk?"

Simon laughed, knowing the Turkish garb he'd chosen to wear for the masque suited him. In place of the gentleman's accepted doublet and hose, he wore white pantaloons with satin ankle strips embroidered in gold stripes. His shirt was ivory silk with a cloth of gold sash about his waist. The splendor of his white and gold outfit was topped off with a sleeveless cloth of gold robe and a gold turban that sported two white feathers and a large ruby aigrette.

"Madam," Simon said smoothly. "I pale next to your magnificence." The queen too was dressed in Turkish fashion, wearing a white gown designed to resemble the tunic dress of Turkish royal women. The overskirt was embroidered in sparkling pink and white diamonds, sapphires, and rubies while the underskirt was a dazzling ma.s.s of silver flounces embroidered with small diamonds and jets.

On her head she wore a flame-red wig, the hair dressed in a coronet of braids with silver ribbons interspersed throughout the braids.

He turned to the dark, silent gentleman by her side and bowed deeply before greeting the sultan's amba.s.sador to England in flawless Turkish. "Al-Caid Ahmed ben Adel, your presence does my home a great and undeserved honor. I can only pray my poor preparations do not displease you. Allow me to a.s.sure you that you may dine at my board knowing all the animals were slaughtered in accordance with Islamic tradition."

The imposing figure smiled. "I believe I remember you, Lord Baldevar. You are the English gentleman that gave my overlord a small token of appreciation before returning home. My lord Murad, shadow of Allah upon this earth, was most pleased."

Simon smiled broadly, not at all surprised to learn the sultan had been pleased with his gift the harem of six delightful beauties Simon had ama.s.sed during his time in Istanbul.

"We appreciate your attempt to honor our new amba.s.sador with this taste of his own home," the queen said, following Simon through the gardens to the ballroom that took up the entire second floor of his mansion. "We look forward to depending upon your aid in settling Master Adel at court."

"I am in all matters your loyal servant, madam," Simon replied, knowing he'd just been handed the duty of interpreting between the queen and her new amba.s.sador. Before his troubles, such a position would have been a pleasing step forward in the hierarchy of the court. Now it was merely another imposition on his time, time he'd far prefer to spend developing the philosophers' stone before the pox could take him.

Displaying more vigor than some guests decades younger than she, the queen insisted on dancing the moment she arrived in the ballroom and Simon obliged her with a lively galliard. Pounding out the frenetic steps, Simon thought that, for all her age, Elizabeth was as quick and graceful a partner as he'd ever had.

"Look at the dandy," the Earl of Ess.e.x muttered jealously to Simon when Sir Walter Raleigh took Elizabeth from Simon's arms to dance the second dance with her. "I am blinded by that ostentatious outfit of his."

Simon said nothing, though he found no fault with Raleigh's garb. The clever courtier reminded everyone of his successful voyages in the New World by wearing a black doublet that glittered with Colombian emeralds and Mexican turquoise, and was trimmed lavishly in red fox fur.

The earl gave Lord Baldevar a sidelong glance. "What say you to giving me a spell to vanquish my enemies?"

"I know of no spell to clear an entire court," Simon said easily, dismissing the young earl's clumsy inquiry as to whether he was truly a sorcerer. "Besides, you have no need of the Dark Arts someone has already cast a potent love spell on Walter Raleigh. What other explanation could there be for his conduct?"

"What conduct?" the earl replied, his black eyes alight at this hint of some gossip that would damage the man he considered his worst rival for the queen's affections.

"Sir Walter has married secretly," Simon informed the earl.

"Forsooth?" the earl said and then shrugged. "Her Majesty may be annoyed with him a short time but no doubt she'll forgive him as she forgave me when I eloped with Frances."

"Frances Walsingham was not Bess Throckmorton."

"Bess?" The earl's eyes nearly bulged out of his head and he gave a whoop of delight. "You tell me Raleigh has gone and married the queen's favorite maid of honor? The fool, the fool! How can you be certain it's not a rumor?"

"Lynette overheard the newlyweds discussing the wedding." Lady Lynette Marline was one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting. She'd been Simon's mistress a few months before but he'd broken off relations with his highborn lovers since he found out he might have the pox. Now he confined his urges to low wh.o.r.es.

"This is wonderful!" the earl exulted. "I cannot wait to see Gloriana's expression when I tell her what that popinjay has done. She'll strip him of everything banish him from court oh, this is wonderful!"

Simon put a restraining hand on his friend's jewel -encrusted red doublet.

"Don't be rash, Robin! Do not tell the queen yourself she despises gossipmongers almost as much as couples that marry without her permission.

Arrange for the information to come to her ears through other channels, and if I were you I'd wait until Raleigh's at sea on his latest piracy venture. Then, Elizabeth will be doubly angered once for his wedding and once for going to sea without her permission."

"My lord." John Dee appeared in front of him, eyes grave as usual. "Might I speak with you privately?"

"Will you excuse me?" Simon said graciously to his friend. The earl clasped Simon's hands in grat.i.tude. "You are a good friend, my lord."

Simon guided the astrologist into a private salon, smirking over how easy it had been to use the rash young earl. Now Walter Raleigh's ships wouldn't pluck any of the galleons Simon's own fleet was targeting on the Spanish Main. Poor Robert Deveraux, unable to see when he was being used.

"My lord," Dr. Dee said without preamble once the door shut behind them.

"We must continue the Great Work tonight."

"Why tonight?" Simon frowned. He had no desire to go down to his laboratory once all his guests were gone and begin the laborious machinations of alchemy. It would be three the next afternoon before he found his bed.

"The philosophers' stone is within your grasp. Your astrological chart has undergone a great change."

Simon bit his lip, not wanting to give in to the sudden joy that made him want to leap about the small room. They'd thought themselves near success before only to have their hopes brutally dashed at the last moment. This time he would remain calm until solid proof was before him. "What sort of change?"

"Your soror mystica has made an appearance."

Soror mystica? The heart mate of the alchemist, the woman so many of his texts insisted was necessary to achieve the philosophers' stone? "When do I encounter her?"

"Three hundred and fifty years hence," John Dee said calmly. "I cannot be certain of the precise date, but your meeting will fall under the sign of Taurus."

Simon sank into a cushioned chair, the gay party outside the closed doors all but forgotten. "Three hundred and fifty years, you say? Am I in another incarnation of my soul?"

"No," John Dee replied, a small glimmer of excitement in his eyes the only change in his serene demeanor. "There is great change in your chart, but you your soul undergoes no rebirth. Everything else changes but you remain the same."

"So I must have discovered the secret to immortality," Simon mused.

"A discovery you may prefer not to make, my lord."

"How could I not want to vindicate our theories and labors of the past three years?" Simon demanded. "John, I know I was right when I told you the materia prima is not metal but blood. We must purify blood to achieve perfection of the soul."

"My lord, I think your discovery an important one but look at all our failed attempts. We've calcinated blood, sublimated it, and distilled it with all manner of herbs and metals, yet we've never created a potion that gave us immortality. Our quest to achieve the philosophers' stone does little else except bleed the wh.o.r.es and vagrants of London dry."

Simon smiled ruefully, thinking of the many dest.i.tutes he'd scoured the streets for, masked and caped so he couldn't be identified. Then he took them into his coach, blindfolded them, and led them into his house, where he cut them up and drew blood for his experiments.

John Dee was right though; he'd never been able to purify the blood, never come close to releasing from it all the vile humors that caused disease and death. But somehow Simon knew he was right, knew the secret to the philosophers'

stone lay in trans.m.u.tation not of gold but blood, the substance of life.

"You say I might wish to stop yet you wish me to continue the Great Work tonight. Forgive me, good friend, for saying you speak in riddles."

"Your chart shows a loss a darkness I do not understand. I would offer you whatever protection I can from this threat not because you are my patron but my friend. You know my reputation was in tatters after I returned from the Prague.

You and the queen alone stood behind me. In thanks for your support, I shall construct for you a powerful amulet and attempt to scry your future."

"Thank you, John," Simon said, holding this learned man in the same esteem he'd held his old mentor, Father Bain. He'd have felt the loss of the old priest when he pa.s.sed away in his sleep over the past winter far more keenly if not for Dr. Dee. "Enter my lab now and begin the preparations, please. I shall join you later."

Simon strode back to the queen's side, offering her his arm. "Your Majesty?

May I escort you to the gardens? I've planned a small musicale for your amus.e.m.e.nt."

"Hawk." The queen smiled. "I'd wondered where you vanished to." She left behind a glowering courtier to take Simon's arm.

Simon escorted her to the center of his gardens, a source of justifiable pride for him. He'd modified the traditional English garden with rare flowers from the East so deep blue Puschkinia flowers and yellow azaleas from the Bosporus mixed in with traditional long-stemmed roses to make his garden a riot of color and intoxicating perfume on this summer night.

For the masque, he'd had a small musicians' gallery painted with cavorting imps and fairies set up between two willow trees, and it was here that he seated the queen on a comfortable velvet-lined stool. "I thought a selection from the Hortus Deliciarum most appropriate for tonight. Minstrels, you may begin."

The queen listened to the music, stormy eyes glistening at a solo by the lute player, a handsome young man with inky jet curls and delicate, pale features. "He plays like an angel."

"Aye," Simon responded, feeling moved as always by the poignant music pouring forth from the musician's skillful fingers. "I am honored that he plays for me."

"Wherever did you discover him, Hawk?"

"He was Michael's music tutor," Simon said softly, and the queen gave his hand a brief squeeze.

"He has one eccentricity, Bess," Simon said to lighten the painful moment.

"Though he charged a fair amount for lessons, Master Aermville insisted that he could only teach at night."

"Did you question him on this peculiarity?" the Earl of Ess.e.x asked.

"Question him yourself." Simon called the young minstrel over and he bowed before the queen but Simon noticed the boy's sapphire eyes never left him.

The intense stare made Simon uneasy, particularly when the lad caressed his wrist in the moment he extended his hand to thank him for performing that evening. Catamite, Simon thought in distaste and hastily removed his hand. The queen gave the young man a small gold ring set with pearls and diamonds and he smiled shyly, speaking in a low, almost tremulous voice when he thanked her. Simon had never seen a man so obviously effeminate. Then he shrugged off his dislike, reminding himself that many minstrels had unnatural predilections.

"We would know what you do with your days," the earl said to Master Aermville.

"I sleep, my lord," the musician replied, and the a.s.sembled crowd t.i.ttered.

"All day?" the earl pressed, and Simon's eyes narrowed when he noticed the boy's creamy complexion go several shades paler. No doubt Master Aermville debauched himself all night and spent the days sleeping off his excesses. But why such embarra.s.sed timidity? Such behavior was hardly unusual. Maybe the musician was made nervous because his betters were interrogating him.

"If it gives him the energy to play such superb music, let him have his rest,"

Simon said and gave the boy a grin, wishing he hadn't intervened when he saw blind adoration in the musician's gaze. Quickly, he dismissed the entertainer and spent the rest of the evening dancing with the queen and engaging in a raucous game of primero with the earl.

Simon gave Master Aermville no further thought so he was quite surprised when he stepped into the library after bidding good night to his last guest and found the musician standing by the windows, watching the impressive ma.s.s of barges roll by on the Thames.

"My majordomo has not given you your fee, Master Aermville?" Surely the boy was not foolish enough to make overtures to an earl? He'd have him horsewhipped.

"My lord, I beg but a moment of your time. Please, I must leave soon, for the dawn approaches."

"You should have left hours ago," Simon pointed out and moved to the sideboard, pouring himself a goblet of dark Gascony wine. He did not extend refreshments to the musician, finding himself more and more unnerved by the open longing in the boy's eyes. "I will thank you to leave now without another word."

"My lord," Master Aermville said in a rush, "I know you take the blood of beggars and attempt to transform it into a substance that will make you immortal."

Simon's hand went to his sword and he put his jeweled goblet down with a sharp thud. "If you wish to make accusations, go and file a complaint of witchcraft with the sheriff. Otherwise, leave my presence else the only blood I shall take is yours."

"My lord, no! I am not threatening you with exposure. I merely wish to say I can give you what you want. I am immortal. I can prove myself, if you'll allow me to."

This could be amusing, Simon decided and relaxed his grip on the sword.

"How will you prove yourself?"

Master Aermville disappeared. Simon blinked but before he could react, the musician was at Simon's side, grasping him with a strength he could not believe came from this slight boy. When Simon tried to bring his arm up to ward him away, the boy pinioned it to his side with a steel grip. "I will not hurt you," Master Aermville said, and Simon could only gape at the gleaming ivory fangs that descended from his mouth. The boy closed his eyes and leaned forward. For one horrified moment, Simon thought the boy meant to kiss him but in the next moment he felt a ripping, vicious pain in his neck.

Simon gritted his teeth, not wanting to cry out in terror like some child, and thought he could only pray this creature kept its promise not to harm him. He heard a noise and felt a pulling at the wound. He's drinking my blood, Simon realized, suckling at my neck as if I were a mother feeding some monstrous babe.

Simon's vision blurred and he felt a not unwelcome la.s.situde go through his body as the creature bent his supine body into his arms but Simon came back to immediate, outraged life when he felt Master Aermville's hand on his codpiece.

"Sodomite!" he roared, not caring that the creature could destroy him. This time he got his arm up and shoved the degenerate musician from him.

Simon drew his sword, not certain if the weapon would provide any protection but feeling better at having it in his hand. "Master Aermville, you have proven yourself inhuman, possessed of powers such as I have never encountered, but I warn you I will fight to the death if you lay hands upon my person again."

The creature staggered to its feet, the strange teeth still dangling from its mouth, now covered in blood. "I offer you my deepest apologies, my lord. All I can say is you tempt me. I love you."

Simon fell into a chair by the fireplace, his paralyzed wits beginning to work again. Master Aermville could break him in two yet the creature groveled before him, a curious mixture of evil and weakness. It was as Simon always thought love, though he privately thought the boy's emotion mere l.u.s.t, could make the greatest of men weak fools prey to exploitation.

"You are a hard man, my lord," Master Aermville said. "I offer you my heart and you seek ways to use it for your own gain."

Simon kept his face impa.s.sive. "You are also gifted in seeing the thoughts of others?"