Perfect Shadows Part 9

A few minutes later a tall serving-man came in bearing a tray which he set on a nearby chest. He smiled at the blinking young man, pulled the chamber pot out from under the bed, and left the room without saying a word. When he returned with hot water and shaving gear the earl felt much better, although the food that had been left on the tray, bread and soft cheese accompanied by a tankard of ale, came close to making him retch. His clothing had been sponged and brushed and he was wearing a clean white linen shirt that was too large for him. His own shirt and collar were nowhere to be seen. The large man introduced himself as Jehan and offered to shave the earl if he desired it. Roger glanced at his own trembling hands and nodded ruefully.

He wished that he could grow a beard, a dashing pointed one like Ralegh's, but whenever he tried it came in patchy and red, looking as if mice and moths had pillaged it. As his head was tilted back and the razor laid to his throat, it suddenly occurred to him just how vulnerable his position was. He started at the touch of the cold steel and might have caused himself serious injury if not for the lightning reflexes of the servant, who s.n.a.t.c.hed the blade away almost before there was need. "I will not harm you, my lord," he said quietly, seeming a little hurt. Roger blushed and nodded, submitting with what grace he could muster. Afterward he was helped to dress and taken downstairs.

The house was old and filled with a sense of brooding peace and a timelessness that Roger found somewhat oppressive. He was very much of the progressive party and "antique" was a term of utter condemnation. The uncarved golden oak paneling and plain whitewashed plaster without a trace of strap-work struck him as more impoverished than elegant, though the plenitude of wax candles and the richness of the subdued carpets and hangings gave that the lie. He shrugged and settled into a comfortably padded chair to await the arrival of his host. He must have dozed off again, for it was early evening when he woke with a slight start to find the opposite chair occupied.

He started again as he recognized the person sitting there eyeing him and smiling. "Your g-g-grace," he stuttered, then found himself at a loss. He had often watched the elegant prince at court, planning the clever things he would say to impress him should they ever meet privately, and now, when his chance had come, he found himself as tongue-tied as any peasant lout. The man smiled at him and Roger melted. Oh please, he thought to himself, please let him . . . let me . . . he realized that the man had spoken to him and was obviously awaiting a reply. "I uh . . . oh, h.e.l.l. I-" he broke off, blushing in confusion as he realized that his companion was laughing at him, then laughed himself as the ridiculousness of the situation overtook him.

"I asked how you were feeling, my lord," the prince repeated, with amus.e.m.e.nt. Roger shrugged, then winced at the pain that shot through his left side.

"What happened?" he asked, and then winced again, mentally, at the ba.n.a.lity of the question. He found himself blushing anew as the tale of last night's adventure was relayed to him. He couldn't have made a more perfect a.s.s of himself if he'd set out to do so on a wager. Falling down drunk and waving his sword about was bad enough, but to be kicked to the ground by a disdainful horse! It didn't bear thinking about.

"You are young yet, Roger, if I may call you that," the prince spoke without a trace of condescension, as if, Roger noted with surprise, peering at him through his eyelashes, as if he were speaking to an equal. He nodded belatedly and the man continued. "And you are of the proper age to make a fool of yourself. But do try not to get yourself killed."

"Why? Would you care if I did?" Roger heard the words fall from his lips with horror. How could he be so unguarded? His preferences could bring him to the stake, and however careless he was about the rest of his life he considered himself most circ.u.mspect in that regard. Usually. He doubted Ess.e.x even suspected, or Southampton, though he, Roger, suspected Hal of leaning more than a little in that direction himself . . . oh, no. He'd lost the thread of the conversation again. The prince was watching him with a quizzical smile quirking the corner of his mouth. Abruptly the man stood.

"I understand you have not eaten yet today, Roger. I will see what may be done to remedy that," and he slid from the room like a shadow, returning minutes later with a large tray. He filled a plate with sliced beef and Cheshire cheese, added a serving of warm white manchet bread and set the plate on Roger's knees, then he poured a rich dark wine into a pair of Venetian gla.s.s goblets.

"You do not sup, my lord?" Roger asked softly and Krytof shook his head, holding out one of the gla.s.ses, which Roger gratefully accepted.

"I make it a habit never to take solid food after dark," Krytof told him. He watched as Roger finished his meal, awkwardly using his one free hand, then took the plate from him. "Tell me about yourself, Roger." And Roger did, with an openness that surprised himself. Soon the prince knew all about the indebtedness that plagued the 'Fantasticals', as he and his friends were called by the more staid members of the Court, and had even garnered a few veiled hints on how they meant to remedy the situation. Roger, sunk sleepily down into his chair, sat suddenly bolt upright, turning an incredulous gaze on Krytof.

"I dreamt of you, once. I fell asleep in a churchyard, and I dreamt that you were there, wounded and weakened, and that I helped you. I hadn't even seen you then, but I dreamt of you. Then I saw you at Court, and I wanted it to have been real," he left off, looking at the prince from under his lashes again. The man didn't look disturbed, but rather amused.

"What is it you are trying to say, Roger?"

"I want to share your bed," Roger answered baldly, then blushed redder than his wine, sneaking another look to see what effect his rash words had had upon the prince, who looked, not disgusted or horrified as Roger had feared, but rather calculating, as if he were weighing actions and consequences, a practice with which Roger and his circle were almost wholly unfamiliar. Several minutes pa.s.sed, while Roger tried to think of any way to take back his words that wouldn't only worsen the situation. What was it about the man that affected him so? Finally the prince smiled at him.

"Ask me again when your collarbone has healed," he said. "You are welcome to stay here, or if you would prefer, I will take you back to your lodgings."

"I would like to stay, thank you, your grace. My lodgings are a bit Spartan, just at present," Roger answered hastily. The prince smiled again and left his guest to apply himself rather diligently to the wine.

The next few days, or rather evenings, followed the pattern of the first, much to Roger's delight, for he hated mornings and found that the prince's largely nocturnal habits suited him. He was restless, however, and pleasantly surprised late one afternoon to learn that he had a visitor. Robin had ferreted him out. He had been shown into the small parlor, and stood toying with a jeweled reliquary from a niche in the mantelpiece. He turned and smiled at Roger, dazzling in his white silk and tawny velvet. Roger, clad at the prince's expense in silk brocade of cornflower blue, smiled back and indicated the chairs that waited by the fire.

"Well, Roger, you do seem to have landed on your feet for once," Ess.e.x drawled and Roger laughed. "Have you sounded your host upon our enterprise, then? No? Well, perhaps that is just as well. There is a chance, a strong chance that all might be resolved sooner. My stepfather, Blount, is arranging a moonlight hunt at Oatlands in a week's time, weather permitting. The Queen will ride Black Auster," his voice sunk to a whisper, as he outlined his daring plan, to Roger's growing dismay.

"But Robin," he fairly squeaked, "there's too much that can go wrong! She's an old woman! The shock might well kill her, even if she kept her seat. And if she fell. . . . " his voice trailed off at the amused expression on his companion's face.

"You worry too much, Roger. It would take more than that to shock old Bess, and the horse has never been foaled that could throw that harpy, once she hasher talons set," Ess.e.x retorted then rose from his chair to greet the man stepping through the door.

"You honor my poor house, my lord," his host said smoothly, with the slightest inclination of his head. Ess.e.x answered with a bow of supercilious courtesy.

d.a.m.n the man, Roger thought to himself. No matter how good Robin's intentions might be, Krytof brought out all the earl's pride and insolence. Robin could barely manage to be civil even though they could use Krytof and his considerable resources in their enterprise, and his recent disgrace should have served to play him into their hands. The prince was just standing there, viewing them with a look of dry amus.e.m.e.nt that could not have incensed Ess.e.x more if it had been by intent. Robin muttered his excuses and fled, and the expression that crossed his face upon noting the companionable hand the prince had dropped on Roger's shoulder boded ill. Roger grimaced, as once outside, Robin soothed his feelings by speaking sharply to the stableman, and spurring his horse into a canter from a standing start. Imagining Robin out of sorts for the rest of the evening, losing at cards and snapping at the Queen, he smiled.

Chapter 3.

Basking in the importance of his visitor, and wanting to impress me, Roger couldn't wait to give news of the upcoming hunt. I had heard the allusions to Elizabeth's abilities as a horsewoman, and the scorn underlying the words. I plied Roger with wine to relax him, and before morning had learned enough of the plot to be worried. I was happy to find that Roger was still susceptible to my suggestion, as I found that I had no desire at all for the pretty, petty boy. The seductiveness natural to the vampire roused his ardor to the point of foolhardiness, past even my powers of suggestion to gainsay it, adding to my distaste.

My first impulse was to discuss it all with Rozsa or Nicolas, but no, this was my problem, my country and Queen. I would see to it myself. I had to reclaim my life and independence, and the sooner I could prove to Geoffrey's satisfaction that I no longer needed a keeper, the happier I should be.

The full moon silvered the frost that veiled the meadows and woods, deepening the shadows where I waited, watching the progress of the hunt. It was a perfect night; the cold was exhilarating rather than bitter. I watched the puffing breath of n.o.bles and horses-my own left no trace upon the chilly air. There was a sudden clamor as a black horse broke away from the main hunt, leaving the fields for the woods, bent, it seemed, on sc.r.a.ping the tiny ermine-m.u.f.fled figure off its back. Shadowy shapes materialized from the concealing woods, darting and nipping at the beast's foam flecked nose, keeping him to the meadow and out of the wood. I spurred my horse into a gallop at the first outcry, easily matching my stallion's pace to that of the runaway, and reached for the Queen, to drag her to safety. She looked furiously at me, starting to motion me away, when something seemed to catch her eye. She kicked free of the pommel, stood balanced on the planchette, then slung herself towards me just as the flash and blast of a pistol discharging rent the night, echoed by shouts and screams from the court.

I jerked and nearly dropped my precious burden with the shock of the pain that lanced through my upper arm, but I recovered and settled Elizabeth's child-like body firmly on the horse before me. The wolves had already betaken themselves to the woods, and were probably well on their way back to Chelsey, their part in the night's adventure accomplished. A second shot rang out and the Queen's horse, some ten yards ahead of us by now, screamed and dropped, only his head thrashing about for a few seconds before he was still. Elizabeth was cursing as only a Tudor could when the laggard court caught up to us. Someone had called for torches, and in the flickering light my enhanced sight confirmed my suspicions. The horse had been shot through the neck just above the withers, the warm blood from the wound steaming upon the snow. The Queen gave orders that all were to return to Oatlands, rebuffing Ess.e.x's offer to take her upon his own horse, and the court, buzzing like a wasp's nest, straggled along after us. I saw Ralegh examining the body of the slaughtered horse and noted the uneasy looks sent his way by Ess.e.x and his followers.

We pa.s.sed through the arches into the courtyard, ablaze with torches and cressets, the court spilling in behind us, milling about and getting in the servants' way. Elizabeth slid from the saddlebow to the ground, and several of her ladies cried out at the sight of the dark blood soaking and staining her cloak and the front of her gown. She ignored them, catching at my rein, her hooded almond-shaped eyes boring into me. "My lord prince, dismount at once," she commanded, and her voice brooked no opposition. I swung out of the saddle, protesting that it was nothing, but allowing myself to be led indoors. Ralegh flanked me, taking me by my unhurt right arm, but speaking softly first, as he approached from my blind side. I was taken to a small parlor where the wound, which proved indeed superficial though quite b.l.o.o.d.y, was already beginning to close as it was dressed by Ralegh. He dismissed the idea of calling in a surgeon with a disdainful wave of his hand, and murmured to me that we would speak later.

If the Queen seemed disinclined to question the presence of a banished man at the hunt, not so Robert Cecil. His twisted form slid in the door like some goblin's shadow before it had quite closed after Sir Walter.

"Your grace, I must have speech with you touching this attempt upon her Majesty's life," he said softly, pulling a stool close to the bench where I slumped against the wall. He ignored my weary nod, and proceeded to question me closely about the Fantasticals, and my a.s.sociation with Almsbury and Ess.e.x. I answered noncommittally.

"Why were you at the hunt, my lord, after being banished from the court in disgrace?" Cecil barked abruptly. My head snapped up at that, and I regarded the minister much as I would something unpleasant adhering to the sole of my boot. "It seems most likely that you contrived this dangerous scheme as a device to return yourself to her Majesty's favor. You will return to Chelsey and consider yourself under house-arrest there until the matter may be taken up by the council." Cecil rose and strode from the room, lingering neither for a.s.sent nor protest. Council trouble again-it was pa.s.sing strange, the coils I could fall into. At any rate I had at least packed Roger off to complete his convalescence in his own lodgings the week before. The possessive jealousy that the puppy had shown upon Rozsa's return from abroad was intolerable, and exacerbated by her prolonged stay at Chelsey. As I sat lost in these thoughts, the door opened once more to admit Elizabeth, with thunder on her face. I struggled to stand, but sank back onto the bench at her furious gesture.

"Cecil told me that he had placed you under arrest," she said, coming straight to the point. "He knows not that your banishment was at your own request, and so needed no such histrionics to conclude it; only you and I know that, my lord. So I ask you, whose plot did you foil?" I knew that without proof she would neither welcome nor believe that it was her darling Ess.e.x, and proof I had none, only the drunken ramblings of a dissolute and rakeh.e.l.ly boy. I shrugged slightly.

"It was only luck, your Majesty, luck and curiosity, having never before seen a moonlight hunt," I countered.

"I saw the moonlight on a raised pistol, cousin," she said. "Someone shot at me."

"Or at me," I countered, and refused to add or admit anything further. Elizabeth's painted brows drew together in a scowl, and she motioned me to leave her.

The next evening I awakened to the news that I had been summoned to council that morning. Sylvana had sent the messenger off with a flea in his ear, saying that the master was wounded, and she was not about to wake him from a healing sleep to go riding off in the sleet and bitter weather for a matter that could just as well be handled by letter. She had stood there then, arms folded, not budging until they had left. I shook my head ruefully, but with no little admiration for the woman. Sylvie came in as Jehan was dressing me, to say that another visitor had arrived, a little humpbacked man who had identified himself only as Cecil. I resigned myself to an unpleasant evening, and went to greet my guest.

The little man was standing near the fire, staring into the flames as though reading an oracle. He spoke without turning as soon as I entered the room.

"I have spoken with her Majesty, and she a.s.sures me that this-accident-was no plan or plot of yours, though how she reached this credulous conclusion she would not say. I do not agree that your part in this is entirely innocent," he paused, turning a piercing glance on me. "Until I am so a.s.sured, I would like you to do a bit of work for me, to prove your good intent towards her Majesty." I made no sign, but stood still in the shadows by the door. After a time Cecil continued. "The Earl of Ess.e.x and his friends are .. . less than trustworthy, being to a man ambitious, harebrained, and up to the eyebrows in debt. Ess.e.x, in particular, overrates his abilities; it will be only a matter of time before his hubris leads him to disaster. I would contain that disaster as much as possible, therefore-"

"You wish me to spy upon him and his friends, and report to you," I interrupted, my voice thick with disgust. Half-remembered days with the Walsingham ring, and the Babington plot paraded hazy images through my brain, and my gorge rose at the suddenly clear memory of Babington's protracted execution, at the thought that however remotely, I had helped to bring it about. There was a knock at the door, which opened at once to admit Ralegh. His bright blue gaze swept the room, a.s.sessing the situation immediately and accurately. He sketched a bow to Cecil, a sardonic smile curling his lips.

"Lord Robert," he said, enjoying the discomfited expression seen so seldom on Cecil's face.

"Sir Walter," he answered, then turned again to me. "Consider well the matter of which we spoke, your grace, and we will conclude it at another time." He stalked from the room.

"Well-a-day, Kit! So that crooked little man takes a dislike to you yet again, does he? My guess would be that he wants you to spy for him. The Fantasticals, presumably? He'd do better to lure one of them into spying on the others for the payment of his debts. My kinsman Gorges does leap to mind, or that that jackanapes Mericke. However I am not come to teach Cecil his business, but to tell you what I found upon my examination of the slain horse."

He took a seat by the fire, and waited patiently while food and wine were brought in. When we were again alone he continued, handing me a small black bundle. "I found this tied into Black Auster's mane, and some sc.r.a.ps of his fodder left in the manger had been admixed with several dubious herbs. There is no doubt that the horse was provoked, but was the intent to kill the Queen, or was another gallant rescuer meant to foil a supposed plot?" He sat back in his chair, sipping the wine and letting the warmth creep back into his toes. I was silent for a time, turning the little bundle over in my hands. It was no more than folded silk, and all burned out on one side, where presumably the contents had consumed themselves, erupting into some sort of flame, and causing the horse to bolt. It reeked of Northumberland. I tossed the foul thing back to Ralegh then stood with a curse and started to pace, almost colliding with Rozsa, who glided soundlessly into the room, followed closely by Tom.

Ralegh leapt to his feet and performed a faultless courtesy, evoking her delighted laugh. She accepted his hand and allowed herself to be seated in the chair that he had occupied a minute earlier. She was dressed in doublet, open down the front, and trousers, and but for her small b.r.e.a.s.t.s, pressed into relief against the silk of her shirt, might have been taken for a pretty, beardless boy. Tom, too secure now to let jealousy poison him, had taken to Rozsa, and I knew that they, too, were occasional lovers. They had been to see a play at Blackfriars, and their lively description of the work served as an excellent diversion.

The next night I rode to Roger's lodgings, where, upon my paying his arrears of rent, the landlady had allowed me to go up. The rooms were not small, but were ill-kept and dirty, a.s.saulting my sensitive nostrils with the odors of moldering food and the dregs of sour wine. Other noisome smells issued from the fireplace which, although obviously most well used, had not seen a fire in sometime. I threw open the cas.e.m.e.nt windows, letting the freezing air scour some of the stench from the chambers. Shouting down the stairs, I arranged for the scullion to come and clear the worst of the mess from the room, for a further handful of small coin. Roger and an older man, both drunk, arrived in the midst of the operation. I listened with contempt as Roger's bellicose voice floated up the stairs.

"Well, I'm not paying you! Or were you trying to rob me, you knave?" There was the sound of a brisk slap and the clatter of a dropped bucket, then Roger's weaving form appeared in the doorway. "Oh, 's'you, is it? Milord Selby, 'low me t'present his disgrace Prince Krytof of Syllabub, Sib-simple-somewhere," said Roger, giggling helplessly at his attempted humor. He sketched a flamboyant courtesy and fell on his face. Selby, perhaps through long practice, handled his own sodden condition somewhat better.

"Please forgive him, your grace, he's . . . we are both somewhat the worse for wine, this evening . . . though I am most pleased, most pleased to make your acquaintance," he took my hand in his, holding it just a few seconds too long and with an eloquent intensity. His eyes were bloodshot, and the skin of his face, once fair and smooth, had begun to sag and display tiny purple lines, which he had tried to cover with a plastering of cosmetic. I brushed the apology aside with a wave, and stepped to the door, pausing on the threshold.

"Please tell Roger, when he is sober, that I shall await him tomorrow evening at my house in Chelsey. Good night, my lord." I turned on my heel and left.

When I reached Chelsey, Ralegh was waiting for me, his cynical smile firmly in place. Once I was seated before the study fire, Sir Walter showed me the results of his day's researches. He had made up a pouch similar to the one that had been fixed in the horse's mane, which he had affixed to a rod about a yard long. Throwing a piece of horsehide down on the hearth he proceeded to rub the bag briskly against it. I watched in amazement as a blue spark crackled, followed immediately by a spurt of flame.

"Are you thinking of trading adventuring for a conjurer's robes, Sir Walter?" I asked bemusedly.

"Not at all, Kit. It's a simple sort of trickery, after all, not magic, as we had feared. You, of all people, should recognize stage fire!"

"But what set it off, and how did they time it?" Ralegh silenced me with a wink, then set about filling his pipe as he continued.

"The paper was held in folds of silk, which, when chafed against animal hair, makes this spark. Cat fur works even better, but horsehair is well enough, and the spark ignited the paper, causing the horse to bolt. They shot the poor beast to conceal that his fodder had been poisoned, the poison acting to make him touchy and hard to control. He would have been dead by morning most likely, and that would have pointed directly at Sir Christopher Blount, Ess.e.x's young stepfather and the old Earl of Leicester's Master of Horse." Ralegh leaned forward, deftly removing a coal from the fire with the small tongs provided for the purpose and studiously lighting his pipe. As the smoke began to wreath his features he settled back and grinned at me. I found myself smiling back for an instant before standing to pace the room once more.

"It always comes back to Ess.e.x, doesn't it. I vow, the man's as vain and empty-headed as a peac.o.c.k, swaggering and boasting about. He'll be having his portrait painted with the rest of his band for posterity next," I added sourly, referring to the fatuous Babington, who had done just that. "Almsbury's coming here tomorrow night, and I will try to talk some sense into him, though I doubt any likelihood of success in that venture! They seem most eager to seduce me into their ranks; perhaps I should let them, for a time."

Ralegh shook his head and leaned over to knock his pipe against the hearth. "Take care, Kit. They, and you, do play a most dangerous game," he said.

Roger arrived promptly at dusk, sober and in no good humor, his sky-blue doublet showing the ravages of last night's debauch. His mood, sour enough to begin with, worsened perceptibly upon my arrival, and was only slightly a.s.suaged by the feast set before him. He was surly and taciturn, falling to his food and ignoring me. I had let my guest finish his repast before approaching the matter at hand, but had allowed him only three small cups before having the wine removed with the remains of the meal. I smiled indulgently at Roger's glare.

"You shall have more another time, Roger, I do promise, but I need to speak with you, and that I cannot do if you are pa.s.sed out drunk."

"Do not patronize me!"

"Oh, but Roger, what are you all angling for, if not patronage? That was why Ess.e.x set you on me as soon as he had occasion, was it not? Do not trouble yourself to lie, Roger, you haven't the knack." Roger's jaw gaped open and he propped it shut by resting his chin on his hand.

"Please ask my lords Southampton and Ess.e.x to be so kind as to attend me here tomorrow night and we will discuss it. Or if that is not convenient, we shall make other arrangements; you will see to it, and leave word tomorrow. At any rate now, I'm sure that you have more important matters to see to than waiting on me." Roger recognized a dismissal when he heard one and stumbled to his feet. He headed for the door, pausing for a moment to mutter his resentful thanks in the matter of his rent. I motioned him out without looking up from the fire. He had barely left before Walsingham was shown in.

Soon Tom was lolled in his chair, thawing his feet at the fire and his fingers around the cup of mulled wine, discussing the past summer's offerings at the playhouses. "Shakespeare has a patron in the Earl of Southampton, but I doubt not that there are others in need," Tom said, gazing sleepily at the fire. "I wonder at your taking an interest, after that clumsy stab at Ralegh. And the history plays, as well."

"Well, one writes what one is paid to write, and the histories were more or less common ground, several of us having worked on them, so Will may have felt free to rework them himself." I fell silent, thinking of Nicolas' reaction to the history plays, the ones dealing with Richard III. Nicolas, in his youth, had been presented at Richard's court, had honored the man, and was incensed that one who was so fair and upright in all his dealings, as well as a just and able ruler, should be so portrayed as a monster of depravity and evil. It had in fact been Richard's own Queen Anne that had died of the same consumptive illness Rozsa contracted, and Nicolas, loving the gentle little Queen, had never gotten over her loss. It had taken some time to convince him that the play, written on commission, had been aimed at the twisted body of Robert Cecil, who was being groomed for high office, and who could not take the merited offense at the play without seeming to defend Richard and the Plantagenets, a most perilous posture in a Tudor court. Now, if one could set the scene... With a start I realized that Tom had been speaking to me, and held up my hands with a grin. Tom laughed aloud at the familiar situation.

"It's good to see you working again, Kit," he said simply.

I rode through the light snowfall that had started with the dusk, obeying the summons from the Queen to attend her at Whitehall that evening. I had had no word from Roger, whom I had commissioned to bring the Earls of Ess.e.x and Southampton to Chelsey that night, but then the lad hadn't seemed to be listening. When the message came I shrugged and ordered my horse saddled, leaving instructions where I could be found, and orders to care for the earls if they arrived after all. I needn't have worried. The first thing I saw in the brilliantly lit room was the long and elegant form of the Earl of Southampton lounging against a wall drawling advice at the players engaged in a game of primero, to their great annoyance and his own apparent amus.e.m.e.nt. From the way that his eyes narrowed I guessed that Roger had extended my invitation in some rude or unflattering terms. I acknowledged Southampton's glare with an absent nod and proceeded to the Queen, standing at her right hand, and bending to hear her words over the music.

"Well, cousin, what was that bit of by-play in aid of?"

I shrugged. "I do not think that the earl cares overmuch for me," I said, and the Queen's pursed lips stretched into a reluctant smile.

Chapter 4.

Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton, eyed the dark figure shadowing the Queen for a moment before wandering off in search of Ess.e.x, his thoughts chaotic. They had received the invitation-the summons rather, from Almsbury that afternoon, and even given Roger's perpetually sullen and bellicose mood of late, had felt the demand arrogant in the extreme, although Ess.e.x had overreacted, in Hal's opinion. After all, it was he, not Robin, whom the prince had disarmed with a lazy grace that was the purest form of insult, and not once, but twice. Even then, though sorely vexed, Hal had found the man as disturbingly attractive as he was profoundly aggravating.

He located Robin closeted with his stepfather Blount and old Selby, and leant against the wall, waiting. "He's here," he announced laconically during a lull in the conversation, then drifted over to the table to pour some wine. The three were looking at him expectantly, so he raised his cup with an exaggerated flourish. "Her Majesty's sinister Shadow, even now," he said, and drained it, watching Ess.e.x's reaction over the cup's rim with an interest that was more than a little tinged with malice. Robin leapt to his feet, knocking the stool sideways into the fireplace. Blount swore and pulled it away, using it as an excuse not to look at his stepson, while Lord Selby flushed and licked at lips gone suddenly dry. Ess.e.x, by force of will, regained his control.

"Is he, by G.o.d," was all he said before striding from the room, followed seconds later by the others.

No one could have staged a scene more carefully to goad Ess.e.x than the one that met his eye. Krytof was leaning sideways against the back of Elizabeth's chair, toying with her ruff and jewelry, whispering in her ear. He straightened at the sight of the approaching earl, and allowed a complacent, goading smile to flit briefly across his lips before schooling his features into indifference. Ess.e.x, more than half in his cups, flushed an ugly red color, and leapt forward to strike his rival away from the throne. Krytof stumbled from the dais, regained his balance and whirled to face his a.s.sailant, only to step back with hands raised when he saw that Ess.e.x had done the unthinkable: he had drawn unbated steel in the presence of his Sovereign.

Ess.e.x advanced until he stood with his rapier held lightly against his rival's throat. His hand shook and a drop of blood welled beneath the rapier's tip, dark as a garnet against that silken white skin. It seemed to break the spell that held the entire court motionless. Uttering a curse, Southampton flung himself between them, pushing the rapier-point to the ground with his forearm, incidentally slashing the prince's doublet and the shirt beneath from neck to navel, his own arm protected by his padded and jeweled sleeve. Blount leapt to place himself between the Queen and Ess.e.x. A thin line of dark blood traced the weapon's path down Krytof 's chest. Selby t.i.ttered nervously and Robin gazed, stunned, at the stained tip of his weapon before throwing it to the floor and turning to the Queen. He held imploring hands out to her, but she glared at him, ordering to Blount to take him away." Elizabeth!" he cried out, piteously, then allowed himself to be led from the chamber. Southampton had already gotten a firm grip on Krytof 's arm and shoved him through a side door into an adjoining gallery, not realizing that he accomplished his task only because it suited the purposes of the foreign prince.

The gallery was dimly lit, the windows shrouded against the chill winter night, and Southampton stood with his face shadowed, looking sidelong at the marred face of the prince. Krytof turned his face and their eyes met.

"Ess.e.x is a hotheaded fool," Krytof said quietly, and Southampton nodded slightly. He stifled a gasp as the prince reached a hand to turn his face to the light, and resisted the urge to pull away. He was attracted to the man, but he was no Almsbury to be ruled by his l.u.s.ts, though he was almost sorry when the prince let him go. His next words caused Hal to stare.

"Cecil is watching you all, waiting. He suspects Devereux of plotting rebellion, and the man proves his folly often enough to make it believable." The words uttered quietly, but with a steely intensity. "You may all end up in the Tower, or worse, if you continue in this fashion, my lord."

"Why do you tell me this, your grace?"

"I tell you because I do not like being enjoined to spy, and as little as I may care for my lord of Ess.e.x, I care for Cecil even less. Make of it what you will, my lord, but do consider yourself warned."

"It may be, of course, that you say these things on commission from Cecil to scatter us," Southampton riposted, and was answered with a cool nod.

"Time alone must answer that," Krytof said and turned to go, almost colliding with Selby as he rushed into the gallery in a flurry of rustling silk, one jeweled hand lifted to keep his cartwheel ruff from flying up and blinding him.

"Your pardon, your highness," he murmured, and sketched a bow. "Hal, Robin escaped from-"

"Of course he did," Southampton interrupted impatiently. "As the Queen intended when she consigned him to his stepfather's custody. Do not practice to be a fool, Tom, you may find it a habit hard to break. Rob will sulk for a time and then come weening his way back into the Queen's favor. Do not hush me, the prince is well aware of the truth, and, I should guess, not offended when he hears it. And he has already a.s.sured me that he does not care for spies." Southampton turned a genuine smile on the prince, and Krytof found himself smiling back. Hal was a most attractive man. "About your invitation for tonight, your grace, we-"

"I quite understand, my lord; perhaps another evening?" Krytof interjected smoothly and left the room, followed by Selby's distracted gaze and Southampton's speculative one.

Several hours later, Southampton lay at full length before the fire at Ess.e.x House in the fashionable Strand, reviewing the events of the day. The exiled Ess.e.x was now engaged in pacing the room, calling the foreigner every foul name he could think of. His powers of invention were not that strong and he had begun to repeat himself. Hal sat up and stretched." Leave off, Robin," he yawned, "or administer some of that cudgeling wit to your own back. If you hadn't acted the lackwit you wouldn't find yourself in this plight. Did you truly think the man would draw and duel with you then and there?"

"He's a puling coward, hiding in a woman's skirts!"

"You're a fool an you think so! That man is no coward, whatever else he mayor may not be. He never even broke a sweat and you were in a fair way to cut his throat." Southampton shivered slightly at the memory of that deadly calm, and the dark blood beading that unnaturally pale skin. "Another thing, I warrant, you could have done nothing more likely to please Ralegh. He was grinning like a crocodile through the whole piece. What possessed you, Robin?" Ess.e.x shrugged and threw himself into a chair.

"He maddens me! How Her Majesty can dandle with the likes of that outlandish, beardless, black gipsy-"

"The same way that she could fondle with a jumped up Devon squire, I should imagine, Rob, and I must say that you handled that rather better. Tossing the Throckmorton wench in his way was a stroke of pure genius, and all the better for that no one suspects your hand in it. Why can you not command yourself so in this?"

"I cannot think of that villain without flying into a rage! He killed my cousin William, you know-"

"After you sent William out to waylay the man, to kill a prince like a dog in the road! That was not well done; Robin and you do know it. You were lucky there that naught worse happened than the loss of a distant kinsman."

"I never meant them to kill the man."

"Just club him insensible and leave him there to bleed to death?" Hal snorted and reached for the wine jug. "This is empty, and so is your store of wit tonight, Rob. I advise you to your bed, and I'll to mine. Things may look clearer on the morning."

Chapter 5.