by Hall, Ian
He sat on the pew in front of her, and leant over the polished wood. “Tell me what ails you. Please, I insist.”
She sobbed again. “Oh, your Majesty, I cannot, it embarrasses me so. I fear I cannot mention the subject in the house of the Lord. It is a sin.”
His expression definitely showed a bit of interest, despite her declaration of sin.
“I am promised to a stranger. A man I’ve never met. And old. Much older.” She sobbed some more. To my surprise, Arthur produced a handkerchief, which he handed to her. He gave a soft grimace as she wiped the tears from her face. “I cannot get out of it. My father owes the man money.”
Not quite the way we’d practiced it, but she still kept mainly to the plan.
All she had to do now was kiss him.
“I too have a similar dilemma,” he said, opening up for the first time. “I too must wed a stranger.”
‘Now,’ I mouthed in the shadows. ‘Mention sex.’
“But, Your Grace,” she bent forward to him. “You will lay with a Princess, a woman of your own age.”
“True, Mistress Eleanor, but she will still be a stranger.”
“You will lay with a Princess, I will lie under an old man.” She sobbed some more. “I don’t even want to kiss him, never mind lie under his thrusts.”
He flinched there, but still remained seated. For a moment, silence fell between them.
“Alas, Mistress Eleanor,” he seemed to force a smile. “I have not even kissed a girl. I am unprepared for such endeavors.” He took a sharp breath. “Yet it seems I must, for the sake of my country.”
“You have never kissed?” she asked, perfectly on cue.
He shook his head, and she moved on him. Her hands framed his face and she kissed him. Not too long, but long enough for him to feel the warmth of her lips against his.
Perfect.
Then she threw herself upright, rushed her hands to her face. “What have I done?” she wailed. Then, like an actor under the camera, she ran down the aisle past my position repeating her line. The sounds of “What have I done? What have I done?” echoed into the rafters.
As she screamed past me, I watched the astonishment on the Prince’s face, happy at the outcome of my little scheme. I almost shouted at the imaginary film crew ‘Cut! That’s in the can!’
Well, he’d just had his first kiss, and he looked as perplexed and confused as any other kid who’d just done the same.
When the Prince had finally settled at the altar again, I moved from my position and left the chapel. I found Eleanor in her room, sitting on her bed.
She rose as I entered. “Did I do well?”
“Oh, you were magnificent, my dear.”
She moved close to me, her breath under my nose, and I felt myself begin to harden in my trousers. What an effect to have. I pushed her away, then sensed something about the Mistress Eleanor. She had a power; a power of suggestion. Not unlike my own.
“What are you?” I said, looking at her expression carefully as I anticipated her answer.
“I don’t follow, Master DeVere.”
She seemed perfectly puzzled.
“You have a talent, an ability to manipulate men.” I held her by the arms and pulled her close, breathing over her nose and mouth. “You must tell me the truth, girl.” I spoke sternly. “No lies here, or I will punish you.”
She nodded, holding her breath. “Yes, sir.” There sounded no nonsense in her tone, no sign of the subservient seduction tactics she’d tried before.
“Where do you come from?”
“Rhayader, in Wales.” Her tone sounded like she lay under hypnosis. I instinctively trusted her answers.
“Who were your parents?”
“My mother was the village apothecary. I never knew my father.”
“And how did you get to Ludlow Castle?” I wanted to know her possible involvement in a part of someone else’s plot.
“There were too many of us. Mother farmed me out for service. My master went to work for the King at Ludlow. I went, too.”
“Do you know of your ability?”
She frowned slightly. “I know I can get men to do things.”
“I bet you do.” I gave her a wry grin.
So her mother had been an herbalist, maybe a village wisewoman, but certainly knowing some form of old medicine. I wouldn’t be surprised if the folks around her called her a witch.
Certain that I didn’t need any further temptation from this siren, I instructed her not to use her ‘ways’ on me or anyone else here, and she meekly nodded.
Later that day, as I again perused the books in the library, I got summoned to the Prince’s side as he took fencing lessons. I’d never seen him look so ungainly.
As he faced off to the instructor, the two wooden sticks crossed between them, his whole body gave off the impression of impending flight from the scene. Then the instructor forced Arthur to react to his strokes, and even to an untrained eye, it seemed obvious that Arthur had no skill with the weapon, and took little to no pleasure from its use.
“Your Grace,” I said, forcing the bout to a close. “Your father, the King, has instructed me to show you the new fabrics arrived from Spain.” It sounded good enough to me, and to my joy, the Prince cottoned onto my lie immediately.
He bowed farewell to his sword tutor. “Master William,” and matched my stride towards the rear of the palace. Once he seemed certain that we were out of earshot, he turned to me. “I require your assistance.”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“With regard to the Mistress Eleanor.”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
He seemed to be struggling to find the right phraseology, but I waited, wanting this to come from him directly, not prompted by me.
“She seems to be in a spot of trouble.” We walked inside, and I directed him to the library.
“Anything we can help her with?”
“Well, I was hoping you’d ask. She is betrothed to a most awful man, far beyond her age, and I hoped we could do something about it.”
I paced back and forth for a moment, then pretended to have an idea. “Why don’t we add her to the Princess Margaret’s household? Such a position would keep her in the palace or castle for a year, until the Princess has to travel north.”
He clapped his hands together and actually grinned widely, one of the first times I’d ever seen him do so. “I’ll talk with Lady Meacham immediately. Oh, Master DeVere, you are so wickedly clever.”
As he walked away and disappeared round the corner, I was grateful he didn’t look back. For the world shook before me, a shimmering of the size and violence that I stuck my arms out and braced myself for the walls falling on me. I tottered from side to side, but somehow did not lose my footing. The effect seemed to last for perhaps twenty seconds, then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped, leaving me shaking.
What had I done? Surely the simple act of bringing Eleanor into the palace couldn’t have changed the timeline that significantly? I moved to the wall, and leant on it, finding some strength in its solidity.
What if I had changed the fabric of time so much to have diverted the actual timeline of the world? Could this mean that the future America, say, would be different from my America? My head ran all these strands of thought to their ends, and each one proved more drastically changed than the last.
I considered the eternal time paradox, that if I changed my own past, would I cease to exist? It seemed an easy question before, but now, actually back in my own past, it loomed a little murkier. Caught in the middle of such a trauma, the seemingly simple became complex, and I felt doomed to three distinct and different lines of thought.
One, I would run into the hills and live the life of a pauper, so far from the machinations of power in this time to have no effect on the outcome of the future world.
Two, I would remain in my current position, but tread carefully, and change as little as possible.
Three, I would continue as I prese
ntly operated, ensuring Prince Arthur’s rise to Kingship, change history forever, and damn the consequences.
Be a fly on the wall, be a mouse, or be a man.
October 1st, 1501
My Lady Sleeps
I slept on it.
I thought of little else, and when I woke, I considered it some more.
There seemed little point in option one. I had no intention of living ‘off the grid’ in 1501, the consequences of such an action would lead me to despair; I’d be as well committing suicide right here and now.
And to tippy-toe around, afraid of every move I made, when every word might be an infraction of my new honor code seemed equally as unfeasible.
So I rose that morning to a shower of raindrops on my bedroom window, and a new determination. The Prince, my new King-to-be, would successfully bed his betrothed, and I, Richard DeVere, would one day be written of in Wikipedia, and every other work of history.
Or, alternatively, like a real-life quantum leaping Sam Beckett, I would be whisked to my new project; my new part of history to be changed.
I ate a hearty breakfast, and searched the palace for the sword-fencing trainer I had so cruelly interrupted the day before. A quick dropping of a few coins ensured me an hour’s instruction, and I soon resumed my rise of skill in the art.
I walked the grounds of the palace with the Lady Jane on my arm, and arranged a rendezvous that evening after dinner. I hadn’t fed for a couple of days and needed both her blood and her body, my new plan giving me the ardor for both, equally.
I avoided Mistress Phillipa a few times that day, as I did not particularly want to give more details of Eleanor’s ‘intended’ betrothal, and successfully made it into the evening, looking forward to Jane’s delightful body.
But as I approached the dining room, two uniformed men grabbed me by the arms and led me past the doorway. “What is this?” I asked, confident that I could escape, but nevertheless interested in the outcome.
“The King wishes to speak to you,” one said, his face resolute, their manner-of-factness quite amusing in a twisted way.
So I got led to a dungeon of sorts in a lower, underground section of the palace, and my wrists chained to a wall. Once trussed, the men left, closing the door behind them.
It all seemed a bit unreal, and very sudden. I stood calmly, knowing my vampire strength could break the chains in seconds, wondering what lay in store.
About thirty minutes later, the soldiers returned, but with a small retinue behind them; the King, and a few of his closest mentors. I recognized the Duke of Norfolk. The newly knighted Sir Gruffydd Rhys trailed behind, a concerned expression on his face. I stood in august company.
Henry strode to the front, placing his face just three feet from mine. “Who are you?”
The time for humor seemed to be over. I bowed my head as far as the chains would allow. “Richard DeVere, your Majesty, recently arrived from the Low Countries for the personal tutoring of His Grace, the Prince of Wales.”
“What happened to the original tutor?”
“Sickness, your Majesty.” I thought simplicity the best policy.
“You have been seen consorting with ladies of the court.”
Hmm. I wasn’t quite sure how to answer this one. “I am fond of the female form, your Majesty. I cannot tell a lie.”
“And you install one in my daughter’s court.” Henry leant closer, but not as close as I could influence him. “Your own spy in her chamber.”
“Your Majesty, the Mistress Eleanor was in place in Ludlow long before I arrived. She is an acquaintance, nothing more.”
He nodded to one side, and a guard hit my belly so hard, I thought my breath would never return to my lungs. One punch, and I virtually hung on the chains, totally winded.
“Yet you, yourself, brought her here, to Richmond with no instruction from me or anyone else.”
“Your Majesty,” I wheezed, “I had no plans…”
Second nod, second punch. Same place. God that hurt. Just below the ribcage, driving my body against the cold stone wall.
Then a third. I felt the blood drain from my head, and everything went a little blurry.
Then my face being slapped. Hard. So hard my temple battered off the stone wall.
“You placed your spy in my daughter’s bedchamber!” Henry bawled into my face. “Admit it, spy. You are sent from James in Scotland to spy – or worse!”
Okay, despite my frail condition, I knew I now held a small glimmer of hope in the argument.
“Your Majesty, I have never been to Scotland. I have never met a single Scot in my life!”
“Then why did you install your woman?”
I looked from side to side. The guard looked like he could hit me all evening, and the rest seemed to have little interest in the proceedings.
“Your Majesty, I have a secret to tell you.” My voice barely reached his ears. “A secret of your son, Arthur.” The King waited, leaning forward. “For your ears only, your Majesty.”
I again looked to his followers, whom he dismissed to the door with a wave of his hand.
I gestured with my chained hand that the King should approach me closer. At last he lay within the range of my persuasion.
“My acts with the Mistress Eleanor were not aimed at your daughter, your Majesty, but at your son, Arthur.”
Henry looked at me suspiciously, considering my words. “Continue.”
“He hopes to bed a Spanish Princess within the month, yet has no interest in her, nor the female form.”
“What do you suggest?” he roared at me, shards of spittle striking my face.
“Wait, your Majesty!” I shook my head at the predicament I’d gotten into. “Prince Arthur has shown no interest in the female form, until he mentioned Eleanor.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your Majesty, it was the Prince himself that mentioned that he thought the Mistress Eleanor a comely girl.”
“And you mean to seduce my son?” Again anger flowed into his face.
“No, no, your Majesty,” I shook my head, and lowered my voice. Henry leant closer. “I only intend to introduce him to the female form. So that when his Princess arrives, he does not recoil from it.”
“Recoil?”
“Your Majesty, I have no wish to criticize the manner of the Prince’s upbringing, but he is now a month from his nuptials, and he has no idea which way up a woman’s body is, never mind what to do with it. I seek only for the good of the boy and the good of the nation.”
Henry looked at me like I’ve never been scrutinized before. His eyes seemed to probe my psyche to the core. “Do you swear to this?”
“Your Majesty, I have only been with Prince Arthur for a few weeks, and I already love the boy. All I do is for his betterment. This I swear.”
“Hmph. I’ll always be watching you, DeVere.” He turned and left the room. “Let him down.” His voice echoed behind him as he strode down the corridors.
Sir Gruffydd was last to follow. He looked at me questioningly. I nodded, smiling, and he returned the gesture. Then he trotted after the King.
As soon as the King had disappeared, the guards opened the manacles on my wrists, and left me, leaning against the wall, recovering from my grilling by the King, and the stomach punches.
As I slowly made my way back into the daylight of a Tudor evening, I felt suitably reminded of who actually sat in charge, and who had his eyes everywhere. It neared dinner time, but I didn’t feel like eating, at least not human food, and I didn’t fancy company, so I walked into town. I had just passed the gates to the palace when the world shimmered again.
Another bad one. The ground seemed to shake from its foundations, and I expected large cracks to appear on the road before me.
But again, during such a deep convulsion, the people around me walked by as if nothing was amiss; they obviously didn’t see the shimmering, shaking mess that surrounded me.
Once the effect had stopped, I stood to one
side of the road, and appeared interested in the passersby. There seemed no way that I could have caused the effect, I had done nothing apart from walk down the street. Unless the events caused by me had taken a further effect. My previous actions had caused another, more pronounced consequence in the timeline.
I needed a drink, and headed for the nearest alehouse.
A silver coin got me a bottle of the best liquor they had; a rancid brandy mixture which looked neither clean nor clear; but it did at least have some bite to it. When I walked back to Richmond in the growing gloom of sunset, the drizzly rain powdering me, I knew I had a buzz on. It made the whole scene a bit surreal, the half-finished palace, the sunset.
Before I knew it, I lay on my bed, and my eyes heavy with the brandy, fell fast asleep.
I passed the next day in surreptitious observance of my new regime. If King Henry had me watched, I determined to find his sources. It didn’t take long, and I had been shocked that I had indeed missed it.
Looking at the situation with new eyes, the court at Richmond Palace was a huge choreographed dance. A play organized by the King; the myriad of greetings of strangers, the constant earwigging of conversations by courtiers and servants, the dallying within earshot, the downright standing by listening.
That evening, I determined to put the next phase of my plan into effect, and cornered Eleanor directly after dinner. With my instructions carefully delivered, I retired to my bedroom to await my part. After I’d ensured that the Prince had retired for the evening, I passed the guard sitting outside his room, and feigning conversation, laid my suggestion of sleep upon him. In seconds he snored gently, his head bowed forward, chin resting on his chest.
I ran to Eleanor’s room and tapped quietly on the door, then returned to my room to await the commotion.
Within minutes, I heard the Prince scream, then the guard, then another male voice.
Still dressed, I raced down the corridor and into the Prince’s bedchamber.
Two guards stood between Eleanor and the Prince on the bed, their swords drawn.
“What’s amiss?” I asked.
Eleanor, dressed in a nightdress so gossamer thin it covered nothing, stood immobile, her head bowed, her eyes closed.