by Karen Brooks
FIFTY-FIVE
ABOARD DODONA’S DREAM, THE THAMES, LONDON
24th to 30th March, Anno Domini 1582
In the 24th year of the reign of Elizabeth I
How do I describe the events of these last few days? They are not easy to recall and more difficult to tell.
Upon reaching Lord Nathaniel’s ship, which lay ready midstream, not far from the Tower, we were hauled aboard swiftly and carefully, especially his lordship. His men, upon seeing his condition, did not fall victim to despair as I feared, but carried him to his cabin and summoned one among them who knew physic.
Nicholas was barely able to contain himself, moving from joy upon seeing me and Caleb, to tears when he learned his lord had been shot. He wept as he lit lamps and candles, casting much-needed light upon the darkness enveloping us.
Caleb and I crammed inside the cabin, trying to remain out of the way, but ready to offer whatever assistance we could. Caleb quietly told Nicholas all that had befallen us. Sniffing loudly, Nicholas nodded and tried to be stoic.
God bless him, I felt his anxiety.
As the sails were unfurled, the anchor weighed and we set off downstream towards the sea, a rough-looking man entered the cabin. He bore more scars than hairs on his head, and carried a satchel over his shoulder. This was Jim — the crew member versed in physic. Using a grim-looking dirk, he cut away his lordship’s jacket and shirt, peeled away my ruff and examined the wound.
‘It’s missed the heart, that much I can tell,’ he said, his eyes betraying his concern.
I clasped my chest with relief.
‘But he’s not out of danger. The shot is still in there, as far as I can tell.’ He signalled Nicholas. ‘Help me roll him over.’ Nicholas and the physician grunted as they positioned Lord Nathaniel on his side. There was no exit wound. They lowered him once again onto his back and Jim scratched his pate.
‘I’ve no choice but to remove it lest it travel about his body and kill him.’ Dropping my ruff onto the floor, he rummaged in his bag, producing a mortar and pestle, a flask, a few vials of powder, clean cloths and wad of dark brown matter that looked like a dying plant and smelled just as bad.
‘My lady,’ he said, ‘be so good as to grind up the powders I put in here,’ he held up the mortar, ‘with some of this.’ He held up the flask. ‘You —’ he said to Caleb, ignoring his woman’s attire, ‘hold this.’ He handed over the pestle. First pressing some of the brown substance onto the wound (it was dried moss, he explained), he then opened the vials and poured the contents into the mortar, muttering as he did.
‘Seeds of henbane, juice of poppy head, cassia lignea, some seeds of scalage, fennel and Macedonian parsley. There, that should do it. Now, grind it up and mix it with this. His lordship will be in need of something for the pain — and soon. You —’ he said to Nicholas, ‘help me undress him.’
As gently as he could, Nicholas held his lordship and helped Jim remove what remained of his shirt and jacket. By the time they’d laid him back down again, the potion Caleb and I had prepared swam in the mortar.
‘Pour that into a cup,’ ordered Jim. Caleb obliged while Jim grabbed one of the lanterns, opened it and held the blade of the dirk to the flame until it changed colour. As I stood in the centre of the cabin, I was transfixed by Lord Nathaniel’s body. Strong and lean, his chest was muscular and covered with a down of dark hair that was matted with sweat and blood. The wound was raw, purple, crimson and black, a weeping eye out of place on that bronzed body. Despite its scars from other battles, his form was a thing of beauty.
I went and sat at the top of the bed and took his head in my lap, holding the sides of his face firmly, stroking his temples with my thumbs.
Jim bade Nicholas and Caleb hold his lordship down. Persuaded the patient was tightly held, he counted to three then pushed the heated dirk slowly into the wound.
Lord Nathaniel groaned. The further Jim pushed, the louder the sound became until his eyes flew open, his back arched, and he ground his teeth together.
‘Hold him. Hold him,’ said Jim, fixed upon finding the shot, his fingers prying the wound apart as he twisted the knife even more.
Lord Nathaniel’s face became worryingly red, the noises strangled. Sweat poured into his eyes. Using my skirt, his mother’s, I wiped it away, whispering what I hoped were comforting words.
‘Gods wounds, Mallory!’ he spat. ‘Cease your prattling and forgive a man his cussing!’ He proceeded to curse and profane in a manner that would have made the devil himself blush.
The ship lurched as the wind took the sails. Above us, cries rang out, followed by more shots.
Reassured Lord Nathaniel was in possession of his wits and would remain still, Caleb withdrew his arms. ‘I’ll see what’s happening,’ he said, his face white. First ripping off the wig and divesting his skirts, he left the cabin.
Fully awake now, Lord Nathaniel didn’t move, and allowed Jim not only to make the wound bigger, but finally, with a levering of the dirk and a terrible sucking sound, to free the shot. It clattered to the floor and rolled under the table. Nicholas retrieved it, holding it between thumb and forefinger with a whistle.
Immediately, Jim poured wine over the bubbling blood and torn skin, the hole laid bare. Reheating the knife, he pressed the blade against the open flesh, searing it, filling the small space with a smell I hoped never to inhale again.
Lord Nathaniel shut his eyes tight, hissed, then grew pale and quiet. His usually bronzed skin was clammy and grey. I wiped his brow, eventually earning a small smile. ‘Forgive me,’ he said.
I smiled back. ‘Forgive you what?’
Placing the rest of the moss against the wound, Jim pointed to the clean cloths. I passed them to him, my hands trembling. Placing them on top of the moss, he bound his lordship’s chest and shoulder.
After a while, Jim helped him to sit up and Nicholas propped him with pillows, then forced him to drink the potion I’d helped make. Pulling a face, his lordship didn’t object too strongly.
Caleb came back into the cabin, a cold gust biting his heels, making the lanterns dim and the candles gutter.
‘We’re being followed,’ he said grimly. ‘Three boatloads of soldiers, armed and angry.’ Upon seeing Lord Nathaniel bandaged and sitting up, he beamed. ‘Good to have you back again, Nate,’ he said. I prayed he was not being too optimistic, that his lordship was indeed back. As Jim said, the danger had not passed. The wound could become infected; perchance the shot may have done more damage than we could see. There was so much that could still go wrong … It did not bear thinking about.
‘The man with the white hair who shot you,’ continued Caleb, addressing Lord Nathaniel, ‘is leading them. He has not stopped shouting since they came within range. He is like a trumpet inciting them to battle.’
‘Fear not, Caleb, this ship can outrun the boats. We do but play with them. Order the cannons fired, Nicholas,’ said Lord Nathaniel. ‘A louder musket will silence theirs.’
‘Are you sure, Nate?’ said Caleb. ‘Once we fire upon the Queen’s men, there’s no turning back.’
Lord Nathaniel gave the grin I’d grown to love. ‘Once we helped Her Majesty’s prisoner escape, it was never an option.’
With a bow, Nicholas left.
I was desperate to ask about Papa, about Beatrice, Angela and Sir Lance, but resisted. Lord Nathaniel had grown so very pale again. Answers could wait. There was a jug of water on the table and some clean cloths, and with them I washed his lordship’s face, then washed the blood from his body and the unharmed parts of his chest. I was as gentle as I could be.
Grabbing my wrist, Lord Nathaniel stilled my action. ‘Jim,’ he said, his eyes fixed upon me. ‘See to my lady’s hurts as well, would you? None other than Richard Topcliffe, the white-haired whoreson who blusters from the boats, attended to her in my absence. She will not admit her injuries, but I fear what that scoundrel has done. Caleb, make sure she allows him.’
‘My lord,’ said C
aleb with a mock bow, one hand resting on my shoulder.
From where he sat on the bed beside his lordship, Jim eyed me with respect. ‘You enjoyed that fen-suckled canker’s attentions and yet you aid Nate? And without a murmur or a fit of the vapours.’ He nodded approvingly. ‘She be a mate worth keeping, my lord,’ he said.
Lord Nathaniel lifted my hand, clicking in dismay when he saw the welts that ringed my wrist. He pressed the most gentle of kisses to them. ‘You read my mind, Jim. You read my mind.’
Before long, he drifted off to sleep.
I was given the only other cabin and left to Jim’s ministrations. Caleb and Nicholas stayed on deck, helping where they could, measuring the growing distance between the Queen’s men and the ship, watching the moon move in and out of the clouds.
Jim kept his face neutral as he examined me, but the way he pressed his lips and furrowed his brows revealed his thoughts. Gently he bathed my wrists and ankles, tended the wounds on my arms and legs and gave me a balm to rub on the more tender parts of my body. He said the external hurts Topcliffe had inflicted would heal. I knew this to be true. It was those unseen, which I did not mention but Jim seemed to guess at, that would take longer. Knowing Lord Nathaniel and Papa were alive, that his lordship and Caleb had risked so much to save me, that the love I felt for all of them was returned in abundance, was all the physic I needed — for now.
I refused the potion we’d administered to Lord Nathaniel, then washed and, knowing I would be unable to sleep, went on deck. There was no sign of pursuit. Caleb and I returned to Lord Nathaniel. The physic had carried him into a pain-free slumber. In repose he appeared so young and untroubled. It was hard to resist the urge to kiss his brow, stroke his face.
Caleb gave a sad, sweet smile. ‘You do love him, don’t you?’
‘Aye. I do. I know, I know. No good can come of such emotions.’ I sighed. ‘Though they are so different to the affection I thought I had for Raffe, this too can only end in disaster. Lord Nathaniel is so far above me, I may as well reach for a star than have him acknowledge me.’
‘I’m not sure he would see it that way,’ said Caleb. ‘You’ve always underestimated him. He has given up his home for you, and more.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘In helping you and Gideon, in aiding me, he’s sacrificed everything — his position, his lands, much of his wealth. He can never return to Warham Hall or his estates, not while Elizabeth sits on the throne.’
My eyes remained fixed on his lordship. He’d sacrificed all that for me? ‘I thought because he was a noble, with court connections, he’d be spared the punishments of lesser folk.’ Caleb shook his head. ‘What of Beatrice?’
It was then I learned the rest of Lord Nathaniel’s plan, his folly. The ship we were upon, Dodona’s Dream, named after the talking forests of myth and legend that were said to offer prophetic utterances, was making its way to Plymouth. There, Sir Lance would meet us, bringing Papa, Beatrice, the maids Alice and Tace, Angela and any of Lord Nathaniel’s men who weren’t currently on board but wished to join us.
‘Where is he intending to go?’
Caleb looked at me in bewilderment. ‘Don’t you understand? Just as he can no longer remain in England, neither can you.’
I knew that. But to think my rashness meant others could not return either … It was too great a burden, too great a responsibility. I couldn’t think upon it. Not tonight.
‘How is Papa?’
Caleb smiled. ‘He is well. At least, he will be. Your Uncle Timothy saw to his wounds. They were dire. He’d been racked, his fingernails torn out, his hands broken. I fear he’ll never be able to make his beautiful locks and keys again.’
My heart was rocked. How could Sir Francis have been so cruel? It wasn’t enough to take his daughter, he had to take his friend’s livelihood as well. I wanted to feel rage, but it would not come. Sir Francis had arrested Papa, failed to intervene in his torture, and all I could feel was an overwhelming sadness. Poor Papa. It was not his eyes that would end his locksmithing days, it was his old friend …
No matter, for was I not the locksmith’s daughter? If I could be his eyes, then I could surely be his hands and anything else he needed as well. It was the least I could do after all he’d sacrificed for me.
‘Where is he? Where’s Angela? I cannot conceive they would still be at the house. Were they troubled by the constables or the sheriff again?’
‘They were not. Even so, we took precautions. Nate sent them to Timothy’s.’ I nodded. Bless Uncle Timothy. ‘Sir Lance will find them there.’
‘Much occurred while I was … while I was incarcerated.’
‘Aye,’ said Caleb. ‘Are you going to tell me what happened to you?’
‘One day … maybe.’
Caleb took my hand ever so gently. ‘I’m here whenever you’re ready.’
‘I know.’
He let my hand go and glanced at Lord Nathaniel, his eyes lingering upon his fine chest, the way it moved up and down. ‘In the blink of an eye, our fortunes change. I still cannot credit Sir Francis had you arrested. Myself and Gideon, well, it was not unexpected. But you? When Nate and Lance told me …’
I lowered my head. I could barely believe it myself, that he had given such an order — or that he’d given Topcliffe permission to hurt and threaten me in the way he did.
‘Do not look so despondent, dearling,’ said Caleb softly. ‘Sometimes, change is for the better.’
‘Change? It’s not change that disheartens me, not when we seek it ourselves. But Caleb, this is exile — enforced exile … Where do we go?’
There was a sound from the bed. Without opening his eyes, Lord Nathaniel spoke.
‘That is up to you.’
I fell to my knees by his side. ‘We’ve woken you.’
‘And I am glad.’
Caleb, showing uncharacteristic decorum, cleared his throat, mumbled something about checking we were sailing in the right direction, and left.
When the door closed, I turned to Lord Nathaniel. ‘Can I get you —?’
He drew me down and halted my question with a kiss. A long, slow one that parted my lips to admit his tongue. Hot waves of longing flowed over me. I rose slightly to meet his ardour and the pressure of his lips increased.
‘Ouch,’ I exclaimed against his mouth.
He pulled away. ‘Mallory, forgive me, I forgot. Your poor mouth. What that brute did to you.’
I touched the bandage wrapping his chest. ‘What he did to you, my lord.’
‘Ah, but he didn’t kill us, did he? And please, my love, can you cease calling me my lord and call me Nate?’
‘I fear I cannot.’ He looked taken aback. ‘You will always be Nathaniel to me.’
With some difficulty he slid over and patted the bed beside him. ‘Come, lie with me. Oh, I’ll be chaste, do not concern yourself.’ I sat upon the edge of the cot. ‘You know, my mother always called me Nathaniel.’
Careful not to hurt him and stifling my own cries of pain, I wriggled until I was comfortable, removing my coif so my hair fell about him. ‘I’m not your mother,’ I said softly, tipping my chin to gaze at him, one hand splayed on the unbandaged portion of his bare chest. His skin was warm and smooth.
Pulling me closer so I felt his manhood stirring, he laughed. ‘Oh, I know.’
‘Does it hurt terribly?’ I asked, my hand suspended over the bandage.
‘Not now.’ He put a finger under my chin and tilted my face towards his. ‘And you?’
‘Not now.’
We lay in silence for a while. The rocking of the boat was soothing, the sound of the river water as it streamed past reassuring. It took us further and further away from London, from the Tower, Topcliffe and, above all, Sir Francis.
‘So, where shall we go? In which country do you wish to live out the rest of your life?’ Nathaniel grazed my hair with his lips.
‘If you’d asked me that question a week ago, I would not have known. Now
, it’s easy. I would go to Venice.’
‘Why Venice?’
‘It’s the place Angela calls home. It’s also a city tolerant of different faiths, of different people and customs. I’ve had enough intolerance to last me a lifetime.’
‘Aye, me too.’
‘And then there’s the matter of her heart.’
‘Angela’s heart is of interest to you?’
‘Not as much as yours,’ I said, shyly. ‘But aye. She left it there a long time ago and I think she should at least try to retrieve it.’
‘A lost heart is a good reason. The best. We will settle in Venice.’
‘We? You would stay too?’
With a muted groan he lifted himself up onto one elbow, causing me to fall back against the pillows, my hair spread beneath me. Lord Nathaniel stared in disbelief. ‘You addle-witted goose. Did you think I did all this —’ his gesture encompassed the cabin, the ship, the river itself as he sucked in his breath at the pain, ‘for the sake of adventure? Uprooted my sister and household, got shot, so I might taunt the Queen and rescue a maiden in distress?’
‘I’m no maiden, nor in distress.’
He dropped a kiss on the tip of my nose. ‘No, you’re not. And I’m no knight in armour. But, Mallory Bright, Mallory Walsingham, whatever it is you’re called, whoever you are — watcher, spy, lock-pick, daughter, widow, fool, liar, prisoner — you are mine.’
It was a while before we spoke again. As he drifted off into much-needed sleep, his arm around me, it occurred to me that when he described me with such love in his voice, such pride in all the roles he listed, he omitted two: mother and child-killer. The darkest secret of all, which I had promised to keep, even from the man I loved most in the world.
Papa may have had it in his heart to understand and forgive me, but he was my father. Once again, his words of warning rang in my ears, squeezed my heart: Even the most considerate and understanding of men will find this tragedy impossible to reconcile without viewing you as guilty.
I would rather imagine what could have been between his lordship and me than have my dreams and his destroyed. In order to ensure that never happened, I had only one choice.