by Lisa Klein
“How will you reach him? He sails with a crew of pirates somewhere on the wide sea,” I said, pointing to the letter.
“The messenger who delivered the letter will take us to him.”
“Hamlet has spurned my love and hates me,” I said. “That is the plain truth.” I held up my hand to stop Horatio from denying this while I read the letter again. “He does not ask you to help me escape. Why would you take the risk?”
Horatio appeared to be struggling with himself.
“My loyalty to Hamlet binds me to protect you, his wife. Come with me, and I will take you to him,” he urged.
Because Hamlet’s letter made no mention of me, I would not consider this offer. I felt, like a stabbing in my bones, the pain of deciding to break from my husband.
“I cannot be such a dutiful wife as you are a friend. I will not go to Hamlet.”
Horatio looked stunned. A long and burdened moment passed before he spoke again.
“You cannot stay here,” he insisted. “You have dangerous knowledge. It is only a matter of time before Claudius takes aim at your life.”
“You are right, Horatio. But how can I leave? How can you leave? Claudius’s spies would pursue us.”
Horatio sighed and ran his hands through his reddish curls.
“I have cast my lot with my friend, and I will contrive some way to go to him. But your safety is the matter now at hand.” His eyes were dark beads almost hidden beneath his furrowed brow.
My fingers played among the herbs in my basket: rosemary, rue, the root of wild ginger, and creeping thyme. Their mingled scents drifted in the air, rousing all my senses and sharpening my mind. Reason told me I could not keep up my ruse of madness for long. I resolved upon a different course.
“I will leave Elsinore, Horatio.”
He sighed, relieved.
“But I will take my own way, alone.”
“How?” he asked, looking doubtful.
“By a seeming death. A careful poison, my means���”
Horatio interrupted me.
“No, Ophelia! You must not despair and harm yourself!”
“Good Horatio, hear me out. I mean to escape with my life, though all will think me dead. I have a plan, but it needs your help.”
“I do not understand, but I put myself at your service. I pledge my life to preserve you from harm,” he said with the fervor of a new-made knight being sent upon a quest.
“I thank you, kind Horatio. I will trust you. For if I do not, I will surely die.”
Chapter 27
In the dusty wardrobe where I plotted my escape, the shaft of light admitted by the narrow window shone like the bright beam of reason in a chaotic world. I bade Horatio memorize every detail of my plan, silencing his doubts and urging his faith instead. Soon he knew his role, my cues, and the place of our meeting at the end. There was no need to swear secrecy, for our trust was already deep. When we parted, he gave me his dagger and made me promise to keep it always on my person.
Though I trusted Horatio with my life, I did not tell him that I might be with child. I wanted to bleed, that my body might disprove this suspicion. Alone in my chamber, I slid Horatio’s dagger from its sheath and fingered the sharp point. A crimson bead of my blood swelled suddenly and flowed onto the blade. I blotted the drops with a feeling of panic. With one stroke of such a knife my life would stream away���an undoing worse than the mere loss of maidenhood. And if I were with child, it would also be lost.
I had no inkling of what it meant to bear a child. I knew only that I would grow heavy with the burden, and one day deathlike pains would grip me until the creature sprang from my loins and cried to be cared for. What would I do then? I had not even the instincts of a mother cat. I wanted to flee both Elsinore and the unknown fate of motherhood, though such escape seemed impossible, except by my death.
The fear of death constantly tempted me to turn aside from my course that day. With each new hour I started up to find Horatio and tell him I would go to Hamlet. Then questions stalled my steps. Even if I were to regain Hamlet’s love, what safety would I find with him, as long as he sought Claudius’s life, and Claudius his? It would be better for me to stand on a hilltop while lightning bolts contended in the sky.
Then I lay on my bed and thought it would be more prudent to delay my plan, and meanwhile hold off danger with my dagger. After all, it was I who had counseled Hamlet against rash action. But this passive course held other dangers. If I were carrying a child, it would soon become evident, and Claudius might suspect Hamlet to be the father. Like the wicked King Herod, he would seek the innocent babe’s destruction. For the child, if a boy, would be Hamlet’s heir and a threat to Claudius as long as he lived. I could not wait and hope, praying that my grief-stricken body would resume its natural courses. I determined to waste no more time pursuing vain paths of possibility. I would act at once.
That night, I only pretended to sleep. Near the midnight hour, I arose, piled all my clothing on my bed, and covered it with a blanket. If Elnora should look in, she would believe that I slept. Wearing my father’s cloak and carrying my basket, I crept from my room with silent and wary steps. In less guarded times, the darkened halls and galleries of Elsinore had stared with furtive lovers and winking sentinels who let them pass. Now no one dared leave their quarters at night, and King Claudius’s men watched like hawks, when they were not drinking or sleeping. I descended the tower stairs to the kitchen, where I put two half-eaten venison shanks in my basket. Unbolting a door near the pantry, I slipped out of the castle.
I emerged into the garden, where the dying stalks of vegetable plants leaned against one another and rustled like thin, dry bones. Scudding clouds raced across the moon and threw shadows in unpredictable patterns. I circled the castle mews and followed the hedgerows past the fields and beyond the village. From time to time I paused and crouched in the shadow of a wall or a tree to be certain that I was not being followed. Through the dark woods, I made my way by a little-used path until I came to the cottage of the wise woman Mechtild. I prayed she would be asleep, for I had no wish to confront her.
There was no light in the cottage. Even the moon had disappeared. Then from out of the darkness, I heard the deep growling of some beast. A ghostly white mastiff lunged at me, its huge jaws wet with foam. With a swift motion, I threw the venison to the ground and the dog fell upon the meat. As I expected, Mechtild now kept a vicious dog to guard against robbers.
In the garden, by the moon’s light, I soon found the plant I sought. Its fetid dark green leaves spread like a canopy over the ground and its fruit, like a small apple newly ripened, lurked beneath. Wasting not a minute, I broke apart the earth with Horatio’s dagger. I uncovered the thick, whitish root, forked like a man’s legs. It was the mandrake, which fools say expels demons and makes women fruitful, but screams when pulled from the earth. I knew this to be an old wives’ tale, a myth. The truth was that mandragora, made from the juice of the mandrake, brought a profound sleep. And I knew where Elnora kept the key to the castle apothecary, which held the other ingredients and tools I would need to make the deathlike potion.
Still, as I scraped the earth, I recalled the legends. I feared to hear a cry from the ground that would strike me dead. A cry that might awaken Mechtild. But I dared not delay, lest the mastiff finish eating the venison bones and start to bark. So I jerked the fearsome root from the earth. The only sound was that of a screech owl, near enough to startle me. In haste I covered the hole with dirt and put the root, leaves, and fruit of the plant all in my basket. I hurried back to the castle, thankful that the black curtain of night concealed me.
The darkness covered fouler intentions than my own. When I opened the door to my chamber, I saw that my blanket was slashed and torn, and the clothes I had mounded beneath it were thrown about the room. My trunk was broken open and the contents scattered. I was certain that my visitor had been the villainous Edmund, and I shuddered to think of his fury when he found me absen
t.
What I stole that night was my very life.
Chapter 28
The certainty that Edmund meant to kill me and the fear that Claudius was behind it made me constantly watchful. I did not stay in my room but begged Elnora to let me sleep with her, saying that I was troubled by dark dreams. Kind woman that she was, she agreed to let me share her bed. That night, I saw how labored her every movement had grown, and I asked about her pains.
“All the woes at Elsinore of late have left their marks upon my weary bones. I feel as old as the mountains,” she groaned, lowering herself onto the bed. “And you, Ophelia, have caused me naught but worry,” she scolded, though gently. “I pray this grief of yours will soon abate and that you will return to your usual self.”
I wanted to reassure her, but dared not reveal my plan. So I said, “Do not worry about me, good Elnora. My troubles here will soon end.” She regarded me grimly, and I feared my words only increased her worries.
“Tomorrow I will tend to your aching bones. I have a notion for a new medicine, made from mallow roots that grow in the marshes,” I said.
Thus satisfied, with a sigh Elnora gave herself up to sleep. While she snored like a giant, I sorted through her keys until I found the one that unlocked the apothecary. Covering my lamp, I made my way in darkness to the closet near the kitchen where medicines were prepared. I secured the door behind me and closed the gap beneath it with my cloak so that no glimmer of light would give me away.
With equal measures of excitement and fear, I turned to my work. I cut the mandrake root to pieces and put them in a flask of sweet wine to steep. How much juice did I need to procure a deathlike sleep? Too much poison would be deadly, but too little would also undo my plan. Uncertainty tormented me. I scanned the Herball and my other books, but their instructions being general, I was forced to guess. I worked in silence but for the crying of owls, the scrabbling of mice, and the knocking of my heart against my ribs. Sitting with my back against the door, I seized some moments of sleep while the mandrake oozed its essence into the wane.
When I judged that several hours had passed, I fished the mandrake pieces from the flask. With shaking fingers, I pressed the last drop of liquid from the root and poured it back into the wane. I added some crushed berries for good measure, and then I heated the mixture over a candle flame, reducing it to a thick, heavy syrup. By the first light of dawn, I poured the stream of black liquid into a small bottle and stopped it with a ball of wax. When I returned Elnora’s key, she stirred but did not awaken.
Then I left the castle, intending to seek the mallow root I had promised for Elnora’s medicine. What I found instead was a ready opportunity to enact my plan. On everyone’s lips was the news that Norway’s Prince Fortinbras was marching toward Denmark, bent on revenging his father’s defeat. Claudius would send his ambassadors off with a public speech that very afternoon. It was his habit on such occasions to walk among the people, with Gertrude at his side, to win their regard or quiet their fears. In this setting I would confront them and play my final part at Elsinore, with Horatio’s help. It seemed that Fortune, by offering this occasion, showed she favored me.
Moved with a strange excitement, I hurried back to my chamber and dressed in my costume of a poor madwoman. As a final touch, I wove flowers into my tangled hair. When I arrived in the courtyard, a large and varied crowd of gentlefolk, servants, and shopkeepers was already waiting for the king. People sought out the patches of sunshine or huddled together, cloaked against the early October chill. I wished that I had worn shoes, for my feet were growing numb from the cold ground. I sat down and rubbed them with my hands. A stage hung with the blue livery of Claudius had been erected for the day’s events. Despite the gay banners that flapped in the breeze, a somber mood prevailed, for everyone was aware of the unwelcome prospect of war.
My basket was filled with garlands and herbs I had chosen with care for the king and queen. I had quit my search for the mallow root in my haste to return to the castle, and I toed to ignore the pricking of guilt, trusting that Elnora would forgive my broken promise. Shivering, I wrapped my mantle more firmly around my shoulders. From time to time, I reached into the pocket of my skirt, where I fingered the small bottle of potion.
With nervous, darting looks, I scanned the courtyard. I sighed with relief to see Horatio but shook my head as he began to approach me. Still, he pushed through the crowd until he stood beside me.
“If you go now, you may slip away unseen,” he whispered urgently.
“No, I cannot leave until I have acted my scene. Do you not remember our plan and your part in it?”
“I do, but I doubt that it will work. You will draw attention to yourself, which will increase the danger.”
Annoyed that Horatio should remonstrate with me, I spoke sharply.
“The crowd will shield me. I must go forward. Trust me, and do your part!”
He relented with a sigh.
“I will keep my promise. May God go with you,” he said, moving away with reluctant steps.
My own farewell, more gentle than my rebuke, was lost in the noise of a loud fanfare that signaled the king’s coming. The councillors and politicians began their procession from the castle, followed by guards surrounding the king and queen. Claudius and Gertrude nodded to acknowledge their subjects, though few cheers greeted them and fewer smiles.
As they approached the stage, a sudden commotion broke out near the courtyard gate. Hearing shouts and loud cries, the crowd shifted its gaze away from the stage and began to surge toward the gate. Climbing atop a wooden crate, someone’s abandoned seat, I saw the source of the tumult. It was Laertes, arriving at Elsinore.
A wave of happiness surged in me. Hope, so long crushed, rose up in my breast. My brother had come and would protect me.
From my perch I cried, “Laertes! Laertes!” but my words were like water thrown into the wind. Then my shouts died on my lips, for I saw my brother waving a sword. Behind him came a motley rabble of about thirty men armed with sticks and rocks.
“Laertes shall be king!” they called, and shouted that Claudius was a tyrant and a pig. At once the king’s soldiers fell upon them, their swords smashing the men’s wooden staves like twigs. Some in the crowd cheered, while others took cover as if they were afraid of being beaten, too.
“Who killed my father? Claudius? Tell me! I swear I’ll be revenged for his death,” howled Laertes.
Three guards seized my brother, who worthed, cursed, and spat upon them. His ragtag followers scattered like seeds on the wind.
Sadly I realized Laertes, too, was mad, sick with the contagion of revenge! Rebellious and full of rage, he could offer me no safety, only greater danger. I had no choice but to continue with my plan and face its unknown perils.
I saw Claudius and Gertrude arrive on the stage. Immediately they were circled by guards who swept them toward the safety of the castle. My opportunity would soon be lost! I stumbled off the crate and pushed through the crowd with all my strength.
“Move! Away! Let me by!” I shouted in my haste to catch the king and queen. The guards followed behind them with Laertes in their custody.
The king’s ministers, with confused and pitying looks, let me pass. Nor did the guards hinder me as I caught up with them. I flung myself against the door and slipped in before it slammed shut.
Startled by the crash of the heavy wooden bolt behind me, I whirled around. The guard who had thrown the lock wore a helmet that shadowed his eyes. A scar clung to the side of his face like a giant worm, and a cruel smile twisted his mouth. I felt like a deer that has just stepped into the hunter’s well-laid trap.
Chapter 29
Inside the great hall there was only dim light, as in a theater darkened for a play. Behind me was the malign Edmund, before me an angry Claudius deep in private conversation with Laertes. Gertrude stood a short distance away, her back turned to them. My brother’s whole body trembled with agitation. I had hoped to confront the king and quee
n in the safety of a larger crowd. Now I had no choice but to play out my scene here.
Neither Claudius nor Laertes had seen me yet. The king gripped my brother by the shoulders and spoke intently. I heard him murmur, “I am guiltless of your father’s death.” It sounded like a lie to me, but I saw my brother yield his stiff and rebellious stance and hang his head in submission. The memory of him as a chastened boy stored my affection and I let a little cry escape me. Gertrude heard it and turned, then seeing me, she gasped and drew Claudius apart from Laertes. They withdrew to witness our sad reunion.
My brother turned. As recognition slowly came to him, his face took on an expression of great sadness.
“Oh rose of May, dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia.”
Never had Laertes spoken so lovingly to me. His gentle words nearly overcame my hard purpose. I would have thrown myself into his arms, but caution prevailed in me.
“Can a young maid’s wits be as mortal as an old man’s life?” cried Laertes. In his voice I heard the suffering and loss that matched my own. I could not speak for the pain in my chest. So I began to sing in a thin and faltering voice. Laertes grasped my hands and looked me up and down. “If you had wits and could persuade me, it would not move me to revenge as much as the sight of you!” He clenched his teeth as anger flooded his being again.
In my brother’s eyes I saw violent desire that dims the light of reason. I feared for him, and I knew I could not trust him. Alas, I must act as if I did not know my own brother. Sorting through the contents of my basket, I drew out some wilted stems.
“Here’s rosemary; that’s for remembrance,” I said, tucking a sprig into his doublet, which had been ripped and smeared with dirt in the fray with the guards. I washed for him to remember me as I used to be, to remember how we used to study and play together. “And here’s pansies. You know, that’s French for thoughts.”