The Armor of Light

by Melissa Scott

  Elizabeth nodded. “Very well,” she began, and Burleigh lifted his head sharply.

  “Your Majesty must not consent to this until and unless Doctor Dee gives guarantees of your safety!”

  The queen lifted a painted eyebrow at him, and turned to the wizard. “Well, Doctor Dee?”

  Dee’s hands fluttered again. “Your Majesty, my lord, I assure you, there is not the slightest danger to her Majesty, I swear it on my soul’s salvation. The powers I invoke are white, beneficent, harmless to godly men. And I will seal her Majesty within a ring of Solomon, which no spirit whatsoever may cross.”

  “Then you’d best stand within it, too, Burleigh,” the queen said, and smiled tartly. “I would not want my Spirit cut off from me.”

  “As your Majesty commands,” Dee said, and Burleigh interjected, “Your Majesty doesn’t mean to do this, surely?”

  “Be quiet, Burleigh,” Elizabeth said. “My England is threatened, or so this wizard says. I will know more.” She nodded to Dee. “You may begin.”

  “If the shutters could be closed?” the wizard asked in return, his voice gaining confidence as he returned to things he knew.

  Elizabeth reached for the bell that would summon her servants, but Burleigh cleared his throat first. “If your Majesty would allow me,” he said, and moved to close the first shutter himself, latching it securely. “The fewer who know of this the better.”

  Elizabeth allowed herself a smile at that, thinking of the Puritans and their preachers, but Dee said, distressed, “My lord, my power is white—”

  “Which is not the point at issue,” Burleigh said. He closed the final shutter with a snap, and came to stand beside the queen’s chair. Elizabeth glanced up at him through the sudden gloom, smiling slightly, then turned her attention to the wizard, kneeling now beside his satchel in the center of the room. Dee fumbled in the depths of the worn leather bag until he found a lump of chalk, then straightened awkwardly.

  “It is my custom, your Majesty, to begin each such operation with a prayer,” he said.

  “A wise and Christian precaution,” the queen answered, dryly.

  Dee bobbed his head, then crossed himself and sank slowly onto his knees. The queen lowered her head slightly, folding her hands on her lap. After a moment, Burleigh removed his fur-trimmed hat.

  “Oh God, from whom all knowledge and all holy desire, all wisdom and all true counsels do proceed, grant that our honest intentions may be answered honestly, and defend us thy humble servants from the assaults of thy great Adversary, that we, trusting in thy defense, may not fear his power, through the might of Jesus Christ our Lord.” Dee crossed himself again. “Amen.”

  “Amen,” the queen murmured, and crossed herself as well. She rested her hands again on the arms of her chair. “And now what, Doctor Dee?”

  “First, your Majesty, as I promised my lord Burleigh, I will draw the ring of Solomon, which no spirit may cross.”

  Dee stooped, holding back his trailing sleeve with his left hand, and began slowly to trace a circle around the royal chair. His lips moved, shaping words the others could not hear. Elizabeth did not turn as he passed out of her sight behind her, but she was very aware of his presence, and of Burleigh’s disapproving frown that masked his fear. Then the wizard had reappeared, bringing the chalked line curving forward until he had closed the circle.

  “Amen,” he murmured, crossing himself, then stooped to sketch a strange sign just outside the circle itself. He moved more quickly now, drawing similar signs at each of the remaining compass points, then walked the circle a final time, scribbling Greek and Hebrew letters along its edge. The words were not Greek, the queen knew, but she could not place the language.

  “The ring of Solomon is complete, your Majesty,” Dee said. “Remain within it, and no spirit whatsoever will harm you.”

  Elizabeth inclined her head graciously, unable to think of another response that would not betray her uneasiness. Dee stooped again, pushing a stool out of the way, and drew a second, smaller circle that enclosed himself and his satchel. He knelt again, sketching signs at each of the compass points, murmuring to himself as he did so. This time, the symbols were drawn on the inside of the line, as though to contain some power, rather than to ward it off.

  Finally, he set the chalk aside, and reached into his bag to produce a silk-wrapped bundle the size of a man’s fist. He stared at it for a long moment, holding it in his cupped hands, then crossed himself and loosened the cords that held the crimson silk in place. The folds fell away, revealing a clear crystal the size of an egg. The queen drew a sharp breath, barely restraining herself from speaking. For an instant, the stone had seemed to glow with a moon-cold light of its own.

  “Father Almighty,” Dee said, “very God of very God, grant that we thy servants may make true use of the powers thou hast granted us.” He lifted the stone above his head as though serving in the church, and his voice took on a new fullness. “And seeing that by thy grace good angels were sent to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, to Joshua, Gideon and Esdras, to Daniel, Tobias and to many others, to instruct them, to inform them, and to help them; and seeing that this wisdom cannot be obtained in any other way than by thy great grace and comfort, either mediately or immediately granted, we beseech you, o Lord, to allow thy spirits to appear to us, that we may know thy will.” He turned to the north, the crystal still held above his head. “Raphael, angel of the air, we beseech thy aid in thy master’s name.”

  The dim air seemed to shiver, the shadows taking on palpable substance. The chalked lines and symbols seemed suddenly brighter, as though all the light in the room had become concentrated on those pale markings. Burleigh shifted uneasily, one hand tugging gently at his beard. The wizard did not seem to see, turning now to the east.

  “Uriel, angel of the earth, we beseech thy aid in thy master’s name.”

  The air seemed to thicken. Elizabeth tasted dust, and her hands closed over the arms of her chair, as though that solid touch would be as much protection as the white ring that enclosed her. Dee turned to face the south.

  “Michael, angel of fire, we beseech thy aid in thy master’s name.”

  A light glowed in the depths of the stone, as though a ray of sunlight had somehow struck it. Patches and sparks of color danced across the paneled walls, like the reflection of the sun on water. Dee turned to the west.

  “Gabriel, angel of water, we beseech thy aid in thy master’s name.”

  Instantly, the sense of oppression vanished, and the air lightened fractionally. The patches of light continued to dance across the walls and floor, but the light at the heart of the stone cooled, became somehow mild. Dee turned back to the north, lowering the stone so that he held it at waist height. It cast strange reflections back at him, silvering his long beard.

  “Spirits, in the names of him who created you and in the presence of his anointed, show us the fate of this kingdom of England.”

  There was a rushing sound, and light fountained up from the stone, rising like an Accession fireworks. The sparks did not fall, however, but rose until they reached a point perhaps a foot above Dee’s head, and vanished again into nothing. Against that curtain of silver fire, a face began to take shape. It was a man’s face, long and lined with care, framed by flowing brown hair, the eyes mild and sorrowful above a tiny pointed beard. A voice, giddy as a girl’s and sweet as a choirboy’s, said, “This is the king who will be.”

  “Name him,” Dee commanded.

  “Charles Stuart,” the voice chanted, “King of England and King of Scots. And this is his fate!”

  With whirlwind suddenness, the mild face vanished, and was replaced with a tiny picture, perfect as a painting. Elizabeth frowned, recognizing the platform and what stood at its center. A hooded man stood beside the block, his hands folded on the haft of his axe. A second man came forward, instantly recognizable as the king the voice had named in its first vision. He knelt in prayer, then bent his head to the block. The executioner lifted his axe,
and then, at the king’s signal, brought the axe crashing down. The picture vanished.

  “No!” Elizabeth did not realize that she had spoken aloud until Dee’s eyes flickered toward her.

  “Please, your Majesty, you must keep silent.” He returned his attention to the stone. “Answer, spirit. Who will do this thing?”

  A swirl of shapes fluttered through the fire. The voice said, “The masters of England, the Parliament. And the powers of God shall be cast down.”

  In the fountain, a bonfire rose, fueled by books and strange instruments of brass and leather. Men in the robes of the universities watched and approved, some even going so far as to toss objects into the flames with their own hands. A spasm of pain crossed Dee’s face, but he said strongly, “Answer, spirit. How may this be prevented?”

  The vision of the bonfire whirled away into sparks that vanished before they reached the ceiling. Nothing appeared to take its place, and the wizard frowned. “Spirit, by the sacred names of God thy master, I command you. Answer!”

  “The Queen of England is but barren stock,” the voice chanted, more slowly, its pitch dropping from treble to counter. “The King of Scots shall be her heir.”

  Elizabeth, who had not admitted her decision even to her intimates, frowned terribly to hide the shiver of fear. “Continue,” Dee said.

  “The powers of darkness are arrayed against him,” the voice answered. “They seek to drive him from the middle way, to either side of which lies hell and the abyss. Send forth the Queen’s champion, let him go north to aid the heir of England. His fate is England’s, his fall England’s bane.” The fountain roared upward, almost to the ceiling, and disappeared. “This seeing is ended,” the voice said, in the sudden dark, and then the power that had sustained the visions had withdrawn.

  “Amen,” Dee said, his own voice drained and hoarse, and folded the crimson silk back over his crystal. Even more awkwardly than before, he stooped to rub away each of the cardinal signs, then straightened slowly. “Your Majesty may leave the circle now, if you wish. The spirits have departed.”

  Burleigh cleared his throat. “And how may her Majesty know that this was a beneficent spirit?”

  Dee did not answer for a long moment, moving instead to reopen the shutters. The cool spring air streamed into the room, washing away the last taint of the wizard’s power. “You heard the names by which I conjured the spirit, my lord. Holy names and holy symbols, every one. An evil spirit cannot answer such a summons, nor, even if it could, could it remain once I had called upon the holy names.”

  “Even if I accept this, just what does it mean?” Burleigh glared at the wizard, who stooped again to erase the last traces of the chalked circles.

  “Oh, be quiet, Burleigh,” Elizabeth said. “You know as well as I what has been happening in Scotland. Perhaps better.”

  Burleigh grimaced, acknowledging the hit. The queen pursued her advantage. “Our own agents hint that witches conspire against him, as they did five years ago. We have discussed already what we might do to aid him—or not, as the case may be—and now these spirits tell me that the rights of kings, of the kings of England, hang in the balance. Very well.” She glanced at Dee, her face softening slightly. “I think you know my champion, Doctor Dee. I believe Sir Philip Sidney was your student once.”

  Dee bowed. “Yes, your Majesty, I had that privilege.”

  “Your Majesty,” Burleigh exclaimed. “He’s your champion in the Tilts—it’s purely ceremonial.”

  “Yes.” Elizabeth nodded, smiling slightly. “Sir Philip is the one the spirit meant.”

  “How can you be sure?” Burleigh asked, and with an effort managed to keep his tone reasonable. “Doctor Dee will surely tell you—”

  He broke off as the wizard shook his head. “Her Majesty is God’s anointed, and so has powers not granted to others. If her Majesty declares Sir Philip her champion, it is done. And I believe it is well done.”

  Burleigh’s lips tightened, but he said nothing. Elizabeth pushed herself to her feet. “Doctor Dee, I thank you for your services. And I know I do not need to tell you that nothing you have heard or said must ever be revealed to anyone.”

  “My lips are sealed, your Majesty,” the wizard answered promptly. “I swear it.”

  Elizabeth favored him with a smile, then turned to Burleigh. “Robert Sidney is at court, is he not? We’ll send him with the message.”

  “As your Majesty commands,” Burleigh said, and bowed as she swept from the room.

  When the queen had left, and Dee had been sent back to his house at Mortlake with a suitable present and a repeated warning, Burleigh moved slowly through the long gallery, pondering his next move. He was aware of servants and courtiers watching, and kept his face impassive, a corner of his mind rather enjoying the stir his very lack of expression would produce. It would do some of those who haunted the court good to search their consciences; equally, it would do him no harm to reinforce their fears. Still, he reminded himself, all that was, at the moment, distinctly secondary to the threat Dee had foreseen. Quite suddenly, for all that he had already committed himself to following the queen’s orders precisely, he felt the need to discuss the situation with someone who thought as he did. He gestured to the nearest servant, and the young man came forward, bowing.

  “Have my coach sent for,” Burleigh said. “I will go into London.”

  Robert Cecil welcomed his father most effusively, bustling about his cluttered study to put aside his work, and shouting for wine at the same time. When the maidservant brought the silver tray, Cecil dismissed both her and the black-gowned secretary, begged his father to be seated, and poured the wine with his own hands. Burleigh accepted the fragile crystal glass cautiously, watching his son over its rim. As always when he did business with his son, the old minister was filled with a strange mix of pride and a sort of regretful pity. Cecil was an excellent politician, his native flair for intrigue balanced by the hard-headed practicality he had learned from his father; it was a shame, Burleigh thought, taking a sip of the sweet wine, that his son had allowed the cares of office to age him so prematurely.

  “How may I serve you, Father?” The amenities concluded, Robert Cecil reseated himself behind his long table, leaning forward to plant both elbows firmly on the scattered papers. It was a pose that had always served him well, suggesting a blunt honesty that was in fact foreign to his nature. Burleigh recognized the pose, but chose to ignore it.

  “There is a matter at hand,” he said, and sighed deeply. “It seems things in Scotland will be coming to a head soon, and the outcome concerns us more nearly than we thought.” Quickly, he outlined what Dee had seen, but did not bother to expound on the political consequences. Cecil would see them soon enough, or should—and if he does not, the old man thought, he’s not worthy to be my successor.

  When he had finished, Cecil nodded thoughtfully, stroking his beard in unconscious imitation of his father’s gesture. “Things aren’t easy in Scotland now,” he agreed. “James is still juggling his various factions—and doing a good job of it, I must say—but witchcraft’s the one thing that could drive him over the edge. What does Dr. Dee think we should do about it?”

  There was a faint note of contempt in the young man’s voice, and Burleigh frowned. “Her Majesty intends,” he said, with deliberate emphasis, “to send her champion north to deal with the matter.”

  “Her champion?”

  “Her champion of the Tilts,” Burleigh elaborated. “Sir Philip Sidney.”

  Cecil’s lips tightened, and there was a momentary silence. At last, the younger man said, “I assume this is in honor of his arcane studies.”

  “I hoped you could explain it,” Burleigh answered. “I respect the capabilities of your agents.”

  Cecil blinked, then smiled, seemingly surprised and pleased by the compliment. “I’m afraid I don’t know much more than you do, Father,” he said, and couldn’t resist adding, “I’ve never been instructed to keep watch on Sir Philip’
s activities—quite the opposite, in fact.”

  “That has rarely made much difference to you,” Burleigh said dryly. “I know you have at least one man in his household.”

  “If you are referring to the playwright Marlowe, I fear I can’t at the moment call him mine.”

  “Yes.” Burleigh’s face grew thoughtful. “I can’t say I approve of murder, Robert, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  Cecil bowed his head, in apparent acceptance of the rebuke. “At the time, it seemed necessary—I felt there were those whose safety was far more important than an atheist poet. There was no reason to think that Sir Philip would—or could—guarantee his silence.”

  “True,” Burleigh said, “very true. It’s beside the point, anyway. I want to know, Robert, why Dee’s chosen Sidney.”

  Cecil blinked again. “As I told you, Father, I know very little.” He paused, and seemed to gather his thoughts. “Rumor has it that he has been more and more involved in his occult studies since his return from Holland—he visits often with Dr. Dee, though that may simply be out of old friendship—Dr. Dee was his tutor before he went abroad. Certainly it’s general knowledge that he has taken Sir Henry Lee’s place at the center of the Tilts, and we all know the significance of that.”

  Burleigh nodded, a little impatiently. The Accession Day Tilts, the centerpiece of the week of celebration surrounding the anniversary of the queen’s succession, were filled with curious symbolism, a symbolism designed to reinforce the special aura of good fortune that seemed to surround Elizabeth. The minister’s mouth twitched unhappily. Sir Henry Lee, who had initiated the Tilts in their present form, had once admitted that the theories behind it all were French, and Burleigh had never been comfortable with the idea of surrounding an English monarch with French ceremonial. Still, no harm had ever come of the elaborate productions, and it gave the younger, vainer members of the court something on which they could waste their time and money. Burleigh’s mouth twitched again. If Dee were to be believed, the effects had been far greater—and Burleigh had always had a great deal of respect for the elderly wizard.