Traitor Angels

by Anne Blankman

  Robert jumped to his feet and paced in front of the fireplace. The flames had died out, leaving behind a pile of gray ashes. “Don’t you see, my lady? Galileo’s discovery doesn’t need to hurl us into despair; it can lift us to the highest heights. This could make us free in a way we never dreamed possible. No longer enslaved by our beliefs or to a tyrannical leader—we can be the agents of our destinies!”

  My heart had surged into my throat, and I could barely breathe around it. Robert’s idea was fantastic, impossible—wasn’t it? All afternoon I had been reflecting on Galileo’s discovery, poking at it as I would with a wound, my fingers soft and hesitant. I had been taught that every passage in the Bible contained incontrovertible truths. To think otherwise was sacrilege. Galileo’s story could divide hearts and empires, bring governments crashing down and crack the Church in two. If Antonio and Robert were right and the answers to divine mysteries were rooted in natural philosophy, then every piece in our carefully constructed world would unravel, like threads in a tapestry, leaving a half-formed picture.

  For the first time in history, we would be able to question our faith.

  And if the king had his way, no one would ever know.

  Tears flooded my eyes. Shakily I stood up, reaching behind me to grip the back of my chair for support. Robert, who had been in the middle of a sentence, fell silent. Everyone turned to look at me.

  “You’re right, Robert.” My voice came out as a wobbly whisper. “The world deserves to know the truth. Even if it could rip apart governments and start wars.” I took a deep breath, my voice strengthening. “People’s freedom rests within their minds—my father taught me that. If our minds are in chains, then we are prisoners. So we must get the vial back and assemble my father’s papers to share them with everyone.”

  Antonio half rose. “Elizabeth, if we do what you’re suggesting, then your father—”

  “Will die,” I interrupted, clasping my hands, as if I could hold myself together and not fly apart with a touch. Antonio wavered behind a sheen of my tears, so all I could see was black hair raining down around a pale face. “I know. The king will have him executed. But this is what my father would want me to do. He’s a lover of liberty above all else.”

  Through my tears I saw Antonio and Robert coming toward me, their faces concerned, and I knew if I didn’t get out of that room I would pull apart like paper left out in the rain. I bunched up my skirts in my hands and ran.

  Down the long, straight corridors, the candelabra flaring in the darkness, I raced heedlessly, losing all sense of direction, until I reached a set of doors leading to the back gardens. I pushed them open with the flat of my hand, bursting outside into the coolness of night.

  The grass was a black carpet dappled with silver. I ran the stone paths, my shoes ringing on the pavers. The scent of roses hung heavy in the air, and the hedgerows were blurred shadows, closing me in a long tunnel.

  When I reached a tree, I stopped, my chest heaving. I bent over, trying to catch my breath. For a long moment I stayed like that, my eyes tracing the stones in the path. Don’t think, I ordered myself. Thoughts would only bring pain and doubt, and I couldn’t afford either. Not if I wanted to remain strong enough to do what my father had intended—and let him die so Galileo’s discovery could revolutionize the world.

  But I still couldn’t stop crying. From somewhere behind me I heard footsteps on the path, but I couldn’t bring myself to care enough to turn around.

  The footsteps stopped nearby. “Elizabeth.” It was Antonio’s voice.

  “Go away,” I muttered to the ground. “Can’t you see I want to be left alone?”

  In the quiet that followed, I could hear the buzzing of fireflies and the shallow rise and fall of Antonio’s breath. He didn’t move.

  “Go away!” I shouted, finally straightening and turning to face him. My words died on my lips.

  He was staring at me as if he had never seen me before. He stood so close I could smell the scents clinging to his skin, sandalwood and spiced wine, and I could feel the heat pumping off his body in waves. He said my name again, so gently I barely recognized the sound of it, and I knew then, with every particle of my being, what he was about to do, and I felt myself moving closer to him like a leaf swept by a river’s current, propelled by a stronger force.

  Antonio laid the flat of his hand on my cheek. His fingers felt warm and rough. Flickers of heat licked my skin where he touched me. I couldn’t tear my eyes from his. He looked so serious.

  “You want to do what you believe is right, even though you know it will bring you pain,” he said huskily. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

  And then he smiled. Such a wide, open smile that something stirred in my chest, as if I were waking from slumber.

  “This time when I touch you,” he said, “you won’t need to ask what I’m doing.”

  His hand guided my face closer to his. So close I could feel warmth emanating from his skin and hear the soft exhalation of his breath. My heart started to race, and my eyes drifted closed just as his lips brushed mine, as softly as air.

  He deepened the kiss, his lips hot and insistent on mine, and everything within me turned to fire. So this is what it feels like, I thought as I kissed him back, winding my arms around him, tightening until I could feel the thundering of his heart through the layers of our clothes. Then and there I decided Galileo must have been right when he postulated that the earth moved, for I imagined the ground shifted under our feet like the surface of the sea, and it was only those opposing forces Antonio had mentioned that kept us firmly anchored to it. As the earth rotated on its axis, spinning us around in this seemingly endless journey, I kissed Antonio again and again until all I knew was the warm wine of his mouth and the blood roaring in my ears because I could not catch my breath.

  Twenty-Two

  WHEN WE FINALLY RETURNED TO THE LIBRARY, Lady Katherine had already gone to bed and Robert sat alone by the dark, cold fireplace, his chin resting on his clasped hands. One look at my flushed face must have told him everything, for he smiled slightly, saying, “I was wondering how long it would take the two of you to figure things out.”

  My cheeks warmed. Antonio only laughed and led me into the room, keeping our fingers intertwined. “Is Lady Katherine all right?”

  Robert sighed. “She’s upset about the elixir and what it could mean for our religion. I’m afraid her reaction is the one we should expect to receive from most people—that, or violence, frankly. Most Christians won’t take kindly to the idea that their savior might have been as human as they are.” He sent us a wary look. “How do you feel about Galileo’s discovery?”

  Antonio poured us glasses of claret, his expression thoughtful. “I don’t think it matters how Christ returned from death. Whether he was resurrected because of his divine nature or because he had partaken of a medicinal substance, he was still a great teacher.”

  I took the glass Antonio handed me and settled on the red velvet divan, fussing with my skirts to give myself time to think about my answer. But my mind felt as disordered as raindrops in a storm, coming down in every direction. I had kissed Antonio. Kissed him. If Betty had known about it, she would have boxed my ears. But . . . I didn’t feel sinful, I decided. I was the same person I had always been. Not rendered new and strange by the “impure” kisses Betty had warned me and my sisters about. Instead, I felt warm and happy. And older, as if I had stepped out of my family’s circle.

  “Elizabeth?” Robert prompted, making me start. “What do you think?”

  “Oh. Er . . . a few weeks ago, I would have been horrified. But now, after everything we’ve been through, I believe there are dozens of hidden truths in this world waiting to be found. Besides, the nature of Christ’s death doesn’t detract from the majesty of his life. It doesn’t diminish the lessons he taught, the lessons that revolutionized the values of his time and that continue to guide us today. Even if he was human—and Galileo’s discovery doesn’t confirm or
refute it—even if he was human, we can still love and revere him.”

  “What Signor Galilei has done is give us a wondrous gift—the gift of thinking and questioning.” Antonio sat down next to me. His leg brushed my voluminous skirts, and I fought a blush. Robert smiled behind his hand.

  “Now that that’s out of the way,” he said, “I think we should investigate the Royal Society. It’s likely my father has given Galileo’s remaining papers—and the vial, if he has it—to natural philosophers within the group. After all, he is the Society’s patron.”

  “Why would he do that?” I took a sip of claret. It tasted rich and bitter on my tongue, washing away the taste of Antonio. “If he wanted to suppress Galileo’s discovery, he’d hardly tell more people about it.”

  “He probably wants to find the cave and needs their advice to locate it,” Antonio said. “Either to destroy the meteor or to take it for himself. Imagine the kind of power your king would have if he possessed an elixir that could pull someone back from the brink of death.”

  Robert looked away, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “Anyone with that kind of power would be unstoppable.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Let’s not think about it now. You said my father mentioned ‘his’ natural philosophers to Buckingham. Did he say anything else?”

  “Only that they’d better be dead,” Antonio said, “for nothing else would excuse their lateness—”

  He broke off. We stared at each other. I could practically feel lightning crackling in the air between us. The men outside Oxford.

  “I slashed one of them,” I said. “I doubt he’s dead, but—”

  “His injury could have slowed their progress to London,” Antonio finished. He surged to his feet. “The king might not have the vial yet! We might be able to steal it back before it ever falls into his hands.”

  Robert jumped up, too. “We have to meet the Royal Society men! We could find out from them which ones are my father’s favorites—and which have recently disappeared.”

  He paced, deep in thought, his eyes darting around the room. “The Society typically holds its meetings on Mondays. It’s now Tuesday, but I’m sure I can convince Robert Boyle to call an additional meeting for tomorrow night. Mr. Boyle is one of the Society’s most prominent members,” he explained when we looked at him blankly. “I should be able to ask him some veiled questions.”

  “Won’t your father attend?” I asked.

  Robert snorted. “He’s the patron of many groups, and I’ve never known him to go to Society meetings. Oh, he remembers to send them venison every year on the anniversary of their founding, but that’s the extent of his involvement. He’s quite accomplished at making meaningless gestures.” His laugh sounded hollow.

  The sound made my heart ache. Poor Robert, illegitimate, unaccepted by his family, yet willing to put himself in danger simply because he wanted to do what he believed was right.

  “Are foreigners permitted to attend meetings?” Antonio asked.

  “The Society accepts men from all nations and classes,” Robert said. “Its members believe in the pursuit of knowledge above everything else, and they won’t even discuss religion or politics at meetings. So if you came, you’d be greeted with open arms—but you’d have to pretend to be someone other than an Italian, in case my father has confided in his philosopher friends. Can you pose as a Spaniard?”

  “If I don’t have to speak Spanish, I should be fine.”

  “I’m coming, too.” I looked at Robert so he could see there was no laughter in my face, only deadly seriousness.

  But he merely nodded. Then he stopped walking and held out his hand across the table toward us. “This Royal Society meeting is the last road open to us. We have to find out if my father has gone to any of their natural philosophers for help. Only then can we track down the vial and the rest of the papers.” The look he gave us was grave. “And then share Galileo’s elixir with the world.”

  I laid my hand on top of Robert’s. “I’m with you.”

  Antonio rested his hand on mine. “And I.”

  “Good.” Robert’s eyes flickered from mine to Antonio’s. “I hardly need tell you that if we’re unsuccessful, we’ll probably pay with our lives.”

  Antonio and I looked at each other. In the candlelit gloom, his face was half in shadow, and I couldn’t see his expression. But I felt his fingers tighten on mine and heard the iron of his voice as he replied, “I know. If it comes to that, I’m ready.”

  The next morning, a knock on my bedchamber door woke me. Six days, I thought automatically as my mind surged into wakefulness. That was all the time remaining before the next Hanging Day took place and the sand in my father’s hourglass trickled out.

  Even as I opened my eyes, the knowledge crashed down on me like a wave pinning me to the ocean floor: Hanging Day or not, Father would definitely die soon. And I would let it happen.

  Don’t think about it, I told myself fiercely as my throat tightened. Surely I was doing what Father and his two “traitor angel” colleagues wanted—exposing the discovery Galileo had made decades ago.

  And they aren’t traitors, I thought as I scrubbed my face with my hands, as if I could wash away this sick feeling clinging to me. They were explorers, readers, and questioners. Only someone who viewed life through a distorted lens would see them as betraying Jesus.

  The knock sounded again. “Enter,” I called, scrambling into a sitting position.

  I had expected to see Thomasine carrying a tray of food, but instead Lady Katherine slipped inside. She held a bundle of sea-green garments in her arms.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Milton. I didn’t intend to wake you.” She held up the clothes. “These are my brother’s. You’re welcome to borrow them for tonight’s meeting at the Royal Society. You can hardly wear the tattered clothes you were in when you first arrived at my door,” she said when I started to protest. “Edward is sleeping off the effects of another . . . er . . . difficult night, and he won’t notice if some of his garments disappear for a day or two.”

  I took the proffered clothes, running my hand along the satin sleeves. “Thank you, Lady Katherine. You’ve been generosity itself to all of us since we came.”

  “I enjoy the companionship. Ordinarily this house is so empty.”

  I set the clothes on the bed. “You must have been lonely, coming all this way from Ireland with only your brother for your chaperone. Do you like London, at least?”

  Her hands fiddled with the silver-backed brushes lying on a table. “I’ve barely seen it—just bits through the carriage window on my way back and forth to Whitehall.”

  “Surely you jest!” When she shook her head, I cried, “You must explore it, then! It’s the most wondrous city in the world—full of learned men and bookshops and people from every nation imaginable.”

  “It sounds like a fascinating city.” She made a sour face. “As His Grace’s intended, though, I’m forbidden to move about freely.”

  For a moment, I stared at her. It seemed wealth and privilege could build its own sort of cage.

  “Don’t you long to see London for yourself?”

  She shrugged. “Yes, but by wedding His Grace I’ll bring honor to my family. And surely you know how difficult life is for my people in Ireland.”

  I understood what she meant: during the last century, my country had fully conquered hers and had tried to force its residents to adopt our Protestant faith. Once Mr. Cromwell had assumed control, he ordered almost all lands owned by Irish Catholics seized and given over to English settlers.

  Shame heated my face. The government my father supported had been responsible for massacres and mass misery in her homeland. “I’m sorry—”

  “My family used to own an estate in the county of Wexford.” Lady Katherine continued fiddling with the brushes, not looking at me. “Mr. Cromwell’s soldiers stole it from us. They forced us to live in Connacht, with the other Irish Catholics.

  “Four years ago, the king granted us new land
. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to keep the despair out of my father’s face.” She turned toward me, her expression hard. “When the king summoned me to London, I knew it was to extend a conciliatory gesture toward my people. I’m willing to do anything to keep us safe—live in this house provided by the king, marry his son, anything at all.”

  She raised her chin, as if daring me to condemn her. For the first time, I realized there was something within her I hadn’t noticed before—a length of steel.

  I bowed my head to her. “You have my respect, Lady Katherine.”

  For a moment, she said nothing. Then: “I came to London prepared to be miserable for my people’s sake.” The smile she gave me seemed timid and unsure. “I didn’t expect to fall in love with Robert.”

  I dropped her brother’s clothes. “You are? I just assumed it was a political arrangement—”

  “That’s what I thought it would be!” Her smile widened as she plopped down next to me. “But he’s so clever and brave and selfless. I fell in love with him as soon as I saw him. Anyway, tell me more about London,” she said, settling on the sea of pillows. “I’d like to learn about my new home.”

  And so we sat on the bed while daylight stretched long fingers across the marble floor. I told her my father’s stories, about the whale that swam up the Thames a few years ago and got stuck in the shallow water when the tide ebbed; people had thought it was a terrible monster and called it Leviathan. I told her about the Royal Menagerie at the Tower of London—a collection of wild animals whose roars and screams rent the air at night—and the polar bear the king of Norway had sent to London long ago, which had been allowed to roam along the banks of the Thames, swiping salmon out of the river with its paws. During my stories, Thomasine entered with a tray and was entreated to remain. Soon we three found ourselves sitting together on the bed, eating cold game pie and laughing, and for that brief sunlit time, I could forget we were a presumed regicide’s daughter, an aristocrat, and a servant, and imagine we were simply friends.

  The Royal Society met in Gresham College, a mansion that had once belonged to a merchant, who had bequeathed the building as a seat of learning nearly one hundred years ago, Robert told us as our carriage rattled through the narrow streets that evening. I raised a gloved hand to draw back the curtain from the window. Candlelit lanterns hung outside the houses on Bishopsgate, barely breaking apart the blackness pressing down on the city.