“Very determined, aren’t you, Yorick?” asks Mect, dawdling over his words. “And yet, you of all of us should know that there is reason to make these…suppositions. You are the one who spends his time in the company of the Queen and her ladies. You must have tales to tell.” He smacks his lips. “Not to you,” I answer with heat. “And not to any players, who are not bound to the court by anything more than patronage.” If it would not go against my instructions, I would leave the room. As it is, I make myself bow to the two of them. “You have great skills, both of you, to move your listeners.” Then I applaud.
Mect is not pleased, but Hieronymous only grins as Mect continues, “This is a hazardous post you keep, Yorick. You have put yourself into the King’s hands, and that is a very dangerous place to be,” he declares, pointing directly at me, as if aiming a crossbow’s quarrel at the center of my chest. “He can crush you there.”
“I am not afraid of that,” I tell him, raising one eyebrow to make my point. “More fool you. This is not old Rome, nor is there any honor in falling on your sword,” Mect mutters as he pours the last of the mead into Hieronymous’ tankard, and leans back as the player slurps it up. “You trusted me once, Yorick, and now you treat me as little better than a dancing bear without a muzzle. Why is that?” His question seems genuine enough, and I decide to answer him.
“You are as much the Emperor’s man as I am the King’s. That causes me to wonder what your purpose is, given the master you serve. When Hamlet’s purposes marched together with the Emperor’s, we were allies. Now those loyalties are not as certain, and I must put my cause with Hamlet’s.” I see a spark of feeling in Mect’s sunken eyes, and I add, “It might be different if Tollo and Hedrann were still alive.”
“Ah, yes, Tollo and Hedrann,” says Mect reflectively. “They do make a difference, being murdered.”
“Yes, they do,” I say, meeting his eyes steadily. Hieronymous’ tankard falls from his fingers and he leans back in his chair, announcing his sleep with a loud snore.
“What does Hamlet want with these players?” asks Mect at the sound; his small eyes are bright as a hawk’s, and as keen. “What purpose can they serve?”
“Must players serve a purpose beyond playing?” I ask, making the question as light as I can.
“Certainly that is all most expect of them,” Mect answers, his voice hard. He has nothing laughable about him now, and but for his clothing none would think him a jester. “But not at this court, as you well know; better than I. What does Hamlet want of them? Come, come, you have the King’s confidence, you know his worries and his fears. You must have some notion regarding his intentions. Hieronymous deserves to know what sort of tool he is. What does the King tell you of the players?” At once I feel a coldness at the base of my spine, and I answer with only part of what I think, for I do not like what suspicions are roused in me, that someone other than the King has had dealings with the players and intends to use them against Hamlet. “With Tollo and Hedrann gone, I suppose Hamlet wants to be certain that the court will be well-entertained, as you proposed. War breeds rumors and corruption faster than the plague spreads. If there are ways for the court to find amusement that do not add to the suspicions and hazards for those away, so much the better.”
Mect shakes his head. “Are you really so blind as to think that is the whole of it? What is wrong with you?” he asks, and answers for himself. “You are Hamlet’s eyes.”
I will not deny it.
RAISSA
Raissa paces the center of Gertrude’s sewing room, her brow dark and her eyes snapping. “When did the message arrive? How long have you had it?” she demands of the Queen.
“It came last night, or so I was informed. It was given to me after morning worship,” Gertrude answers as if she has taken no insult from Raissa’s lack of courtesy. “The King told me to give it to you, with his wish that you accept the offer, for your sake if not for his and your father’s. It is a very favorable contract, and does honor to Lorraine and Denmark. The grants to you are most generous.”
Raissa nods. “There is no surprise in that, or the King would have said nothing to you of it. For his sake and my father’s, if not mine,” she muses, then shakes herself. “This message, how was it carried? And who brought it? You say it came last night? At what hour?” She stops and stares at the window, and then looks down at young Hamlet who is trying with all his tiny might to pull my yawp apart. “Should they hear this?”
“It is nothing to me,” says Gertrude, then adds, “I would rather Yorick remain here, in case the Prince become upset by the sound of our voices.”
“He will know from the King in any case, won’t he?” says Raissa with an angry toss of her head. “Very well, I will consider this offer, whatever it is.”
“Hamlet has already said he would like to have you marry the Norwegian Count. He has dispatched a letter to your father to say he will accept on his behalf if it is suitable to you. It is a good match, Raissa.” Gertrude smiles, but there is something forced about it, and the corners of her mouth quiver downward. “That’s very well for you to say,” Raissa snaps, and stares down at the parchment she holds. “You do not have to go to a strange country to a man you do not know, all for the advantage of Kings and the Emperor.” As soon as her hasty words are out, she blanches, and looks wildly at Gertrude, contrition in her eyes.
For the space of three heartbeats Gertrude says nothing, and then she lifts her hands in a gesture of negation. “Shall we agree that last is unsaid?” “Yes, please yes. Oh, Gertrude, I am scared.” Raissa starts suddenly to weep; hearing her, young Hamlet pauses in his assault on my yawp to look around in dismay, his attention suddenly fixed on the Queen and her lady. Then he begins to wail. I rush to pick him up as Gertrude reaches out to Raissa. For a short while the only sounds in the Queen’s sewing room are a counterpoint of sobs.
I sling the Prince over my shoulder, just as he likes, and I rock him gently as I pace the room, doing what I can to quiet him. His little body trembles with the force of his weeping. I hum one of the tunes the babe favors, not so loudly that the two women can hear me.
Finally Raissa moves away from Gertrude and wipes her eyes with the end of her sleeve tippet. “What do you know about this Count Axel? Have you anything you can tell me about the man? If my life is to be tied to his, I want to know who he is and what his reputation holds.”
“He is said to be of good name, and has a sizeable fortune as well.” Gertrude handles her smile better this time. “Fortinbras numbers him among his favorites. He is thirty-two, has two daughters from his first marriage.”
“What became of his wife?” asks Raissa uneasily. “She took the bending fever,” Gertrude answers, doing her best to calm her waiting-lady. “Count Holberg told Hamlet that Count Axel was a devoted husband, treating his wife with affection while she lived and honoring her memory when she died. He mourned her a full year and had his whole household grieve for her.” “Commendable in form, at least. And if anything should happen to me, I suppose he— You have already spoken to Count Holberg?” Raissa asks, shocked out of her tears. “How could you do that, when you had said nothing to me?”
“I wanted to be able to tell you something about the man recommended to you for a husband,” says Gertrude. “How was I to learn anything of him without approaching one of the Norwegians? How could I advise you without some knowledge of the man? Surely you would rather I spoke with Count Holberg than ask Polonius, wouldn’t you?”
Raissa puts her hand to her face. “Saint Cecilia, yes!” she exclaims. “That is nothing against Polonius, but . . . I know the other women will be gossiping about this before dinner today, but I can’t bear the thought of Ricardis’ smugness if she knows more than the others.” Young Hamlet is beginning to doze. I find a comfortable place to sit and both of us lapse into silence that I hope will provide some invisibility.
Gertrude reaches for her needle and takes her place at her embroidery frame. “You cannot stop the goss
ip,” she says, her gaze on the flowers she is working in pale silks. “Gossip is everywhere, rank as weeds, and no matter how you strive, it will flourish. Be resigned to that, Raissa.”
Raissa sighs and draws up one of the low stools near Gertrude’s chair. “And I am as guilty of it as any of the others. Who does not like to be first with the news? But now that the news is mine, I am horrified that there are others who want to do what I myself would do if it were any other who had received this offer.”
“True,” Gertrude says with a faint smile. “How are we to change the world for—”
It is a moment before Raissa can achieve a rueful laugh, “So you serve me my own dish. Well enough.” She takes the letter and reads it again, smoothing the page with her hand as she traces the words down the sheet. “Now Count Axel seeks me as his bride and the King favors the match. Very well, I will need an evening to think the matter over, and then I will tell you what I have decided. Not tonight. In the morning.” This last is announced as she rises to her feet again. “Did they send a portrait of him? Doubtless he has had one of me.” “None was given to me,” says Gertrude carefully.
“That bodes ill,” Raissa says, making it a jest. “I will have to speak with Polonius about the man, I suppose, since you have already spoken with Count Holberg. If he is hideous, I had best know it at once, to accustom myself. Polonius will tell me what the man looks like and how he behaves.” She goes to Gertrude’s side and puts her hand on the Queen’s shoulder. “I will miss you.”
“And I you,” says Gertrude softly; it is decided, though no word of acquiescence has been spoken.
“But you can find consolation, and friends to comfort you,” Raissa counters with some of her familiar brittle archness back in her words. “Who knows if there will be any for me?”
Gertrude puts her hand over Raissa’s, “If the match is truly repellant to you, Raissa, refuse it.”
Raissa does her best to smile. “And then what? In a year there will be another proposal, possibly less desirable, and the King will insist that I accept, and will not like my hesitation, for in a woman growing older, good matches are rare.” She pulls her hand away and curtsies. “I will tell you in the morning what I will do.”
Now Gertrude puts her hand to her eyes, in an effort to ward off her own tears. “You have been my one friend from France while we have lived here. Once you go, Lorraine will be a memory I cannot share with anyone.” “The same fate is mine,” Raissa reminds her as she leaves the chamber.
Prince Hamlet is silent now, dozing in the abrupt way of children. Carefully I lift him from my shoulder and hold him gently. His little hands are folded around his thumbs, and I cannot help but think of the opening buds in the Queen’s garden. I carry the Prince to his mother and offer him to her.
“Oh, yes, thank you, Yorick,” says Gertrude in a breathless rush. “I am grateful to you for this.” “You are kindness itself, my Queen,” I tell her, keeping my voice low so that the babe will not waken. She takes the child in her arms and draws him close to her, “You see why I have forbade using swaddling bands?” she asks quietly as she watches the Prince, her eyes avid with hope. “He is learning to grasp for things already. He is learning to take what he wants. If he were in swaddling bands, he would not be able to do that, and that would hamper him. This will make him stronger, I am sure of it. A Prince must always have a strong grasp, don’t you think?”
I recall the many times this little boy has reached out for my chaperon or my pipe and I nod to her. “He is very strong.”
“I think so, too,” whispers Gertrude as she continues to embrace her son with the same tenacity of the swaddling bands she so deprecates.
WAR
Hamlet faces his Counsellors with the air of one well-satisfied. “We will march in three days,” he announces, and although he is only confirming the rumors all of us have heard for days, the Counsellors do their best to appear surprised and delighted.
“And the Emperor?” asks old Horatio, his stern features showing more determination than anxiety. “What will he do?”
“He has approved our march. He will send us couriers so that he may be informed of all progress made against the Poles.” Polonius all but bows, gratified that he has made this arrangement.
“How fortunate,” says Horatio, unimpressed by Polonius’ feat, though several of the Counsellors show increased respect to Polonius, acknowledging his accomplishment.
“And the army is ready?” asks one of the Counsellors from the north.
“It will be in two days,” Hamlet informs them all. “We are gathering the last of our supplies—food, weapons, and horseshoes—for our campaign.” He raises his head and his voice together. “Denmark triumphant!”
The Counsellors all rise and echo his cheer, most of them flushing with emotion. Only a few do not seem to share the enthusiasm of the rest, though they do their best to counterfeit some degree of happy anticipation. I watch them all from my place, following Hamlet’s orders, noting the demeanor of the men and listening to unguarded remarks, in case any should be to Hamlet’s discredit.
Polonius is preening, his smile so openly self-congratulatory that I wonder he is not recognized for the toad-eater he is. Many of the Counsellors wear similar smiles, but not so blatantly as Polonius does. He approaches Hamlet and whispers something to him, which gains Hamlet’s attention. Polonius indicates the Counsellors with a single gesture and then says something more. “You have the right of it,” Hamlet concedes, making a gesture of concession. “It is fitting that you should know that today the lady Raissa sets out for Norway, to her marriage to Count Axel. She is going with a small escort—smaller than I would like, but with so many men needed in the field, I can spare only a few of the Guards to carry her to her bridegroom. There is no slight in her escort or the manner of her leaving the court. Do not think this is intended to disaparrage the match. This marriage is fortunate for all of us, and I most heartily wish them long life together, and many sons.”
Again the Counsellors echo the King’s sentiments, though a few look puzzled that there is no feast for her, nor other celebration at court to mark her departure, as befits a lady of the Queen.
I notice that three of the younger Counsellors look displeased. Could it be they wanted Raissa for themselves? How foolish, when they all know her purpose is to compound alliances, linking Houses of the mighty. With Gertrude married to Hamlet, the need for another woman of Lorraine married to a Dane of rank is small; no one at Elsinor paid her serious court, for it would have earned Hamlet’s disapproval. These men do not have fortunes enough to meet her bride-price, even if it were possible that such a match would be condoned. But I mark them, to tell Hamlet of their displeasure before he leaves, so that he may be alert to any reports of discontent at home while he is away. “It is my wish that my brother be Regent to my son while I am away.” Again, this is known, but the Counsellors make it clear that they approve the appointment. “I will hold his judgment to be the equal of my own.”
There is less certainty in the endorsement of the Counsellors, but Hamlet pretends that all is well. He strides off his dais and begins to single out certain men for a few private instructions. The other Counsellors watch while trying to seem not to watch. I share their predicament. Hamlet is aware of these things, and his courtesy is most apparent when he is speaking with the Counsellors whose lands are near the southern border of the Kingdom, for he then raises his voice in order to include the others in his remarks. “If we need more supplies, my couriers will bring you word before carrying it on to Elsinor. I depend upon you to dispatch what is needed as quickly as possible, with suitable escort. If you cannot spare the men needed for escort, then send at once to your neighbors for armed men. I do not want our supplies falling into unfriendly hands at the time we need them most.”
The Counsellors all nod gravely, and a few speak up, vowing to be prepared to assist the King at a moment’s notice. Yet there are a small number who frown, their expressions more re
served. Old Horatio is one of them, his dour countenance revealing a dissatisfaction that is surprising in him, given that he has sought this war with determination since word came that the Emperor would support it.
“What troubles you?” Hamlet asks of Horatio, seeing the reserve in the old man’s stance.
Horatio is ready with an answer. “I have said before that this war helps the Emperor more than it helps Denmark, and yet, the favor of the Emperor is needed if we are to keep our borders safe, and not have to be at arms so often that.…” “I know,” says Hamlet, making sure everyone in the room hears him. “It is a gamble, as all statecraft is a gamble. As all war is the greatest gamble of all. We are supposing the Emperor will prevail and we will benefit from it. Well, what prudent man would not entertain such a risk at this time, with the Poles raiding our merchants and seeking for more land?” He pauses, waiting for one of those in the chamber to protest. When nothing is said, he goes on. “It is my intention to leave an undisputed Kingdom to my son, when he comes to rule. For that, the Emperor must be our ally. If you cannot see the truth of this, speak to Polonius; he will explain it to you.”
There is an uneasy grumble in the room, as if weights were shifting. Then Theodoric, whose holdings are far in the south, next to the frontier with Germany, speaks up, “It is fitting to keep on good terms with the Emperor, and to preserve Denmark against the displeasure of Ludwig. I, for one, welcome this war if it makes our borders secure at last.” Several others have said the same thing over the last weeks, but now his words are greeted with cheers and approval that is startling to all of the men in the chamber. Those who have been glowering now take on grim smiles that show they, too, long for such certainty as Theodoric proposes. Hamlet gives a sign to me, and then moves to the center of the chamber. “There will be a feast tomorrow night, and then the army will depart. Let the players perform a work of farce, so that we may all have a good laugh before we undertake this grim business.”
Alas, Poor Yorick Page 24