In the Garden of Iden

by Kage Baker

  So the days of Christmas rolled on cheerily enough. There was no work to do in the garden; there were no guests to shepherd about and explain things to; there were no more frenzied party preparations. Most hours Nicholas and I spent in his little bare room at the top of the house, where the relative chill refreshed us after the stuffiness downstairs.

  My love, my love. At night we cuddled together under the blanket and read by the light of his single candle, or talked far into the dark hours. He would never give over his attempts to persuade me that I needed his Christ; and I could not resist the temptation to argue the need to save men's lives rather than their souls. Yet he had some remarkably advanced ideas for a man of his time, he really had.

  Mine only love. The household slept below in silence; our little room seemed cut adrift, the cabin of a ship sailing through the vaster silence of the winter stars. How could anyone think that my lover was a paltry mortal thing? He was an immortal creature like me, and we dwelt in perfect harmony in a tiny world of bare boards and dust, leather and vellum.

  You can love like that but once.

  I was vaguely aware that terrible and portentous things were happening in the world outside. I heard fragments of news broadcasts coming up from Nef's room, and warning messages were surfacing out of my chronomemory program. It seemed sensible to ignore them, since there was nothing at all I could do about them. One should always avoid unnecessary unhappiness. Especially if one is an immortal. They taught us that in school.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  « ^ »

  On the eleventh day of Christmas, January 5,1555, there was a thaw. There was pouring rain, rushing in gutters, and then it froze again; but the snow had been so reduced that the lanes were open and people could visit one another for Twelfth Night.

  Our Christmas parasites used the opportunity to go home at last. Without them the house seemed luxuriously empty, and Nicholas and I got the chance to explore the minstrels' gallery.

  It was entered from a third-floor passageway, through a tiny dark door that looked like a cupboard. Nicholas had to bend nearly double to squeeze through, and my hoops gave me no end of trouble, but once we were up there, it was neat. We stood and surveyed the view of the great hall, and Nicholas drew my attention to the fine carved roundels that were practically invisible from down on the dance floor.

  "Red roses," I observed. "Red roses were the badge of your Lancasters, in your Roses wars, were they not? I did not know the house was so old."

  "It isn't." Nicholas grinned. "But Sir Alexander was a Lancastrian partisan, and so we have roses encarnadined in his honor. Not that any Christian soul hath noticed them these thirty years. I must write them in mine abstract of Worthy Sights to Be Pointed Out to Paying Guests."

  I peered over the rail.

  "So far up and such a little space. I wonder they got all those hautboys and base viols up here. They must have been sitting in one another's laps, trying to play."

  We looked at each other. I sidled over to him.

  "I recall," I remarked, "that when we looked up at the musicians, we could see but their heads and the topmost parts of their instruments."

  Nicholas leaned his elbows on the rail and gave me a sidelong gaze.

  "What better place than this," I decided, "for a lesson on the recorder?"

  "Madam, what can you mean?" inquired Nicholas in his suavest voice. I pounced, and we tussled out of sight, up there on the tiny platform.

  A door opened below us, and two sets of footsteps sounded in the great hall. We froze, except for Friar John, who fainted dead away. I sat up in a panic, and Nicholas grabbed me and pulled me down. Our hearts thundered, surely louder than those footsteps over hollow cellars.

  "I had come sooner, but the snow did not permit," said a voice. Familiar, somehow. "And, to tell the plain truth, there have been fearful things that captured my thoughts. I have ridden from Rochester, you may know."

  "Aye. Well, the time spent has been favorable to thy case. I too have had much to consider." That was Sir Walter. "I'll tell thee, Master Darrell, I have looked at thine offer with new eyes."

  Master Darrell? Offer?

  "Have you so?" the other voice sharpened. "And what say you to it now?"

  "It likes me well," said Sir Walter. "I were a liar if I said otherwise."

  "This is a change, certes."

  "Well, well; the case is altered."

  "Ah."

  Creak as they sat down together.

  "Shall I—? I shall call for sack," said Sir Walter, and he did, and they sat there saying nothing while a servant brought sack, and they said nothing while he left, and only after the door shut behind him did they speak.

  "Tell me, how much—" began Sir Walter, at the same moment that Master Darrell said, "I am prepared—" They both halted.

  "Forgive me, sir," said Master Darrell.

  "Nay, a thousand pardons. Speak, friend."

  "What I offered, I offer still: half the sum in sealed bags now, and the rest when the cherries ripen and apricots go to market, God send us favorable sun and rain. Even failing that, I have wool in the north, and that's sure. And you spake once of certain provisos…"

  "In sooth. Thou must keep the name."

  "Oh, sir, the name is all. Therein is the value. Who would pay a farthing to see Darrell's Garden?"

  Nicholas turned his head, frowning.

  "Well! I am satisfied," said Sir Walter, and there was a silence as they both drank. Sir Walter set down his tankard and said:

  "I am no man for this country life. Look at me, Master Darrell, am I old? Am I palsied? Do I falter?"

  "Uh… nay."

  "Hadst thou met me but today, thou shouldst say I were no more than thirty. The Greek physick hath given me a new life! Shall I dream it away in this quiet place? Or shall I not rather set out anew?"

  Bad feelings in the minstrels' gallery.

  "What is it you mean to do?"

  "Meseems I have not known mine own heart… I thought this garden should be my fame, my child, my all. I see now it is not the end I desire. I, I meant to hold a Christmas revel that befitted mine ancient lineage. It was nothing so grand as I envisioned, for I saw that my neighbors are but lowborn country folk, and I find myself but a little country squire pinched shrewdly by his expenses. I was made for greater things, Master Darrell!"

  "But what remedy, sir?"

  "Thou shalt hear it. I'll get me to London and try for a courtier. There is power, there are the New Men! Through sale of this estate I'll have ready cash in hand, and haply a Spanish wife of noble birth, which cannot but stand me in good stead at Court."

  "You mean to marry, then?"

  "If the lady grant my suit, aye. She hath looked well on me thus far, and I may hope, I tell thee. God knows she is not fair, but she's young, and I doubt not of an heir once I bed her—"

  He was talking about Nefer. My astonishment at this was such that I inadvertently broadcast it, and a second later I felt both Joseph and Nef tuning in to the conversation.

  "—and thereby my puling nephew shall have no claim."

  "This lady is one of your guests, then," said Master Darrell.

  "Yes. As to that—" Sir Walter sounded uneasy.

  What's going on? from Nef.

  Shut up! from Joseph.

  "There is a thing thou shouldst know," said Sir Walter. "This Lady Margaret is a sort of nurse, after the Spanish fashion, of virtues sober, to that girl thou hast seen in my garden. The girl and her father, Doctor Ruy, are my guests here."

  "For that he is your ancient friend. Aye, I remember me."

  "Yea, even so, and yet thou shouldst know…"

  Hold it hold it HOLD IT! Joseph was exploding out of a chair, and distantly I heard him pelting down a corridor.

  "There is a certain arrangement that I have with Doctor Ruy. He must remain here, he and his daughter, as long as they will; and all that they want of the garden, they must have. Seeds or grafts or bushes entire, and thou must on no acco
unt hinder them. Nor mayest thou question them concerning anything thou seest, though never so strange."

  "I like this not so well," ventured Master Darrell.

  "I could say more, if I durst." Sir Walter gulped his wine. "So thou meddle not in his affairs but let him do as he pleases, it will be well for thee. He hath powerful friends, hath Doctor Ruy—"

  "What, is the man a Spanish spy?" blurted Master Darrell. "God's death, sir, how could you?"

  The shock in Nicholas's face is something I wince at even now.

  "No, his masters have—"

  "God save you, Sir Walter. I have come of express purpose to seek you out. God save you also, sir." Joseph appearing out of nowhere, not even out of breath.

  A silence that sizzled like bacon.

  "This is Master Darrell of Colehill," said Sir Walter with a little cough.

  "Ah. Sir, your servant. You are the gentleman who desires to purchase the garden, is it not so?"

  A baffled silence. "I had not told anyone—" began Sir Walter.

  "But me. You recall? When we drank so much sack together. We were grievous deep in our cups, I fear. Have you decided to sell?"

  "I had thought to." Sir Walter let his words out one at a time, like frightened mice.

  "You have, of course, told him of our arrangement? I trust, sir, you understand?"

  "No, sir." Very grim, very brief the reply.

  "Then I must explain. I belong to a fraternity of scholars. We quest after knowledge of divers sorts, to work great good for men. Our brotherhood is wealthy, and not so respectful of priests as it might be, wherefore the Church hath put us under interdict, and so we work secretly—"

  "No more, brother! I know whereof you speak." Master Darrell's voice had lightened up amazingly.

  "You do?" said Joseph, after a pause in which I could hear his wheels whirring. He gambled and said, "Then in the name of the Widow's Son, I need say no more."

  "You have a friend in me, sir." Master Darrell's voice was jovial, and there was a brief smack of palms as they exchanged lodge signs or something. Everyone, and I mean everyone, relaxed.

  "My studies have brought me to Sir Walter's garden for the rare simples that grow therein." Joseph picked up the ball and ran like a thief. "As you may see, casting your eyes on Sir Walter, I have been able to reverse the natural decay of the flesh. I ask but that I be allowed to continue my studies here. I shall pay you well for the privilege."

  "Why, is it so? Then all is well. Tell me, can you… uh… restore that natural growth of hair, the want of which upon the head of a man who is yet young, shall make him appear older than his years?"

  "Are you troubled with baldness? I can cure it without fail, my friend. You may consult with me when you will. But I had near forgot the purpose I came here for! I would remind you, Sir Walter, that you are to fast this night. No sack with eggs."

  "If I must," grumbled Sir Walter.

  "Lovers grow lean for love, and so must thou," said Master Darrell. "Tell thy lady thou diest for her."

  "Lady?" Polite professional interest from Joseph.

  Sir Walter drew a deep breath. "As you know—Doctor Ruy—I have made suit to the Lady Margaret. Marriage is my intent."

  Oh really? reacted Nef, without as much laughter as I would have thought.

  "Truly? Then sir, God speed you in your suit. Her dowry is not base gold but spotless virtue, which you well know is a far greater treasure."

  "No, er, lands or inheritances, then?" said Sir Walter.

  "Not nowadays, though I assure you her forefathers (pure Christians all of them) fought valiantly for the Cross, placing faith above base gain."

  "Oh."

  I'd better lay away my thirty-seven pounds, thought Nef.

  "Be ruled by me and take the lady for herself, man." Master Darrell spoke with a certain bitterness. "I had not told you all my news yet. A Spanish lady will serve you better than six hundred pounds a year, if you would try Court now."

  "What do you mean?"

  "There is great news in Rochester, and we must rejoice. For, look you, this Christmastide the Parliament hath done wonders. England hath repented her sins and returned to the bosom of Rome, I say. The late King Henry's Acts are voted down every one, the Mass is restored, whereat we must rejoice."

  In the great hall there was a shocked silence, until at last Sir Walter said: "Thou knewst all this, and came into my house so lightly to bargain with me?"

  "How otherwise, sir? Is this not great news? Were we to go about sadly, we should be suspected for heretics, should we not?"

  "So we should." It was difficult to read Sir Walter's voice. He was silent another long moment, and then he said: "So we shall have the abbeys and the monasteries back again."

  "Aye, forsooth."

  "And good sisters shall tell their beads so quaintly again, as they did when I was a child, and there shall be great paintings in the church to show the glories of Paradise and the torments of the damned."

  "Aye, forsooth."

  Joseph's voice, sounding embarrassed: "Now, as I am a Spaniard, and a loyal son of the Church, I trust you gentlemen will not recall that I spoke of any brotherhood of scholars."

  "Oh, nay."

  "Nay, nay, sir. It is well, nowadays, to have a Spaniard for a friend," said Master Darrell.

  "I certainly count myself as such." Joseph matched his irony note for note.

  Mendoza, are you okay? sent Nef.

  "How long, think you, before the bishop's men are sent out amongst us?" asked Sir Walter.

  "It is expected that the order to conform goes out before the end of the month."

  "Ah. I have some time, then, to put my house in order."

  I will never understand the English. Sir Walter had cried like a child because he could not serve his guests peacock two nights in a row; but at the news that his civil liberties had been taken away, the man was sensible and calm.

  "So." Master Darrell drained his tankard and set it down. "I would, if I may, sir, see the accounts for your garden, the better to know what income I may expect."

  "My secretary keeps excellent accounts." Sir Walter got to his feet. "Let us go find the books, and thou shalt see for thyself."

  "And I shall take my leave of you, señors." Joseph was bowing. "I must to my studies, er, prayers. Remember, Sir Walter, you must fast."

  "Aye. Aye." And they went out of the great hall, all together.

  Nicholas and I sat silent in the gallery for a few minutes. He was nodding, slightly, and his lips were moving, but no sound came out. Finally he gave a little choked laugh.

  "Why, so is the silly world turned upon its head," he said.

  "How could they do it?" I whispered. "How could a people be so foolish?"

  Nicholas lowered his head to his knees and wept. His sobs echoed in the great hall, where only a short time before he had played the winter king in his pasteboard armor.

  Arrows you may dodge and fever you may antibody for, but mortal grief is a misfortune you cannot escape. That's a translation of something solemn from my school days. It was, as I remember, the first sentence of an essay about the hazards of taking mortal lovers. The author compares this act to having a gangrenous limb grafted onto one's perfect immortal body. He then proceeds to a little parable about the immortal heart as beautiful machine, flawless and balanced, designed by a master with all protection against weakness and damage—until the heart's foolish owner attaches leads from it to the inferior heart of a badly made mortal engine, thus compromising the integrity of the better design and exposing the owner to all the shocks, faults, and stresses of the lesser model.

  See, cyborgs have their Thomas Aquinases too. Though I'd been told, practically from the first day I went into the field, that all that was nonsense and it was actually really okay to sleep with mortals. Nothing to it at all.

  It's very important to give young operatives the straight dope, you know?

  You can imagine that after a miserable interlude Nicholas and I
crawled out of the gallery and walked away down the corridor. He turned suddenly to stare at me. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen with crying. I had expected them to be bewildered too; they weren't. There was a clear, cold place in them, a country of ice I'd seen at a distance before. No distance now. "In this life," he said, "we must be on our guard."

  "Yes," I replied uncertainly.

  Terrible music was beginning to play, an anthem for that frozen land; but a door down the hall opened, and Sir Walter emerged.

  "Nicholas!" he said. "We must speak, now."

  "Right gladly." Nicholas turned on his heel and advanced on Sir Walter so rapidly, and drawing himself up so tall and ominous, that Sir Walter shrank back a little. He retreated through the doorway, and Nicholas followed him in.

  I had no urge to go and listen to them. For the first time in a long while, I badly needed the company of my own kind.

  This sentiment lasted until I got to Nef's room. Opening the door, I beheld Joseph bounding up and down in place like a rubber imp on a string.

  "The son of a bitch! The ungrateful, dressed-up chimpanzee! The rotten little two-timing descendant of Saxon drag queens!"

  "Ignore him." Stonily Nefer turned a page of her magazine.

  "Ignore me?" Joseph screamed. "IGNORE ME? YOU GO RIGHT AHEAD AND IGNORE ME, MISS TUTANKHAMEN! I'M ONLY GETTING A LITTLE AGGRAVATION OUT OF MY SYSTEM!"

  I put my hands over my ears. The unicorn buried its head in Nef's skirts.

  "Ah! Ah! Ah!" Joseph went right on bounding with the precision of a jackhammer. "I'll kill him! I'll give him cavities and postnasal drip! I'll rig his autonomic nervous system so he does something painfully embarrassing every time he sneezes!" He stopped, staggering slightly as an idea hit him. "Where's the black hellebore? Where's the nux vomica? Is he ever going to get a bedtime cocktail tonight!"

  "You're upset about the mission with everything else that's just happened?" I wept. "The Parliament selling out to Cardinal Pole? The Church getting all those awful powers again?"