Elizabeth of Bohemia

by David Elias

  “This bodes ill. But how then shall this medicine reach him?”

  “Leave that to me.”

  Sir Walter walked over to a corner of the room and reached up to open the door of a cupboard on the wall. Inside, the shelves were cluttered with jars, vials, and the general apparatus of alchemy. He brought out a vial, lifted it up to the light, removed the cork, and sniffed the contents before placing it on the small table beneath. Next he took another jar from the shelf and removed a few strands of dried plant material which he placed into a mortar and pestle that sat before him on the table.

  “The ingredients are numerous and varied.” He took up the pestle and began to grind up the leaves. “And some I have only just procured, as these leaves of scordium, which some call water germander or creeping plant of Malta.” He pinched some of the ground-up material between his fingers, lifted up the vial, and sprinkled it in.

  Some I grew myself in the small patch of garden they allow me, such as flowers of borage, sundew and rod elder, betony and cubebs of juniper berries. Others I obtained from Yeomen Warders in exchange for malted spirits I prepare and make available to them when their rum rations run out. For this batch I have also added shavings of hartshorn, and roots of angelica . . . oh, and valerian, and fraxinella and tormentil.”

  “It is a dizzying list of elements.”

  “There are yet others of more import, as viper’s flesh, hearts and livers, juice of kermes, and dittany of Crete, also bastard ditanny and zedoary.” He took down a small green bottle and removed the cork. “I’ll just add this last.”

  “What is it?”

  “Virginia snake root, which may serve to ease a fever.”

  “Brought back from the New World, no doubt.”

  “Indeed.”

  “They say you brought back many an unknown substance from that place.”

  “It was at the King’s urging I sought them out. He took a great interest in them, in particular those of a toxic nature.”

  “There are those who say it is your knowledge of exotic potions my father would keep under wraps, and to that end locks you up in here.”

  “Your father has a great fear of foul play.”

  “As his overstuffed peasecod will attest to, that a dagger thrust should not inflict a mortal wound.”

  Sir Raleigh spooned up the contents of the mortar and fed them into the vial, then twirled the mixture for a moment before re-corking it. “There” — he looked up at me — “it’s ready. I fear I shall soon have some need of this myself, if only to stave off the ill effects of this damp and godforsaken place.”

  “It is a shade of kermes I have never seen before, almost as red as blood. Do you think it will make him well again?”

  “I have seen it work against all but poisoning.”

  A squawking at the window interrupted us and I turned to see a raven alight on the window ledge, feathers askew here and there on his black body, head misshapen. I had seen these birds on previous visits as they were always about the place, fighting amongst themselves for scraps, but never one that looked to be so rumpled as this.

  “That’s Arthur,” said Sir Raleigh, “come to visit of an evening as he is wont to do after the Yeomen are drunk and staggered off to bed. He lost an eye to a Warder’s halberd, which gave him also his crooked beak.”

  “They say if a raven alight upon your window you shall know it for a sign.”

  “Of what?”

  “I do not think I should say.”

  I stepped over to peek through the bars of the door and realized it had been left slightly ajar. I pushed at it a little until I could see out into the hall, where I discovered the guard asleep, chin on his chest, in a wooden chair propped against the wall at the end of the hall.

  “The guard is asleep,” I said. “We can do as we like.”

  “There are others who come by, though they should doubtless be no more sober.”

  “I had thought to see my cousin Arabella Stuart while I was here.”

  Sir Raleigh seemed a trifle unsettled at this remark. “She is under strictest confinement.”

  “I received a letter from her.”

  “You are fortunate. The lion’s share of such correspondence seems destined to disappear around here.”

  “She mentioned you.”

  “How so?”

  “That she was jealous of your fireplace.” I walked to the mantle and stood before it. “How would she know about this?”

  “I can’t imagine. There are always rumours and whispers scuttling about the Tower.”

  “But you haven’t seen her?”

  Sir Raleigh ignored my question. “This letter you received, you’re certain it’s authentic?”

  “It is in her hand.”

  Sir Raleigh placed a hand on either side of his small writing desk. “There’s naught and no one to be trusted in this place.”

  “What can you tell me of her circumstances?”

  “The King is greatly displeased with her.”

  “As he is with me.”

  “You are his daughter.”

  “That counts for little.” I went to stand before him.

  “I have yet such means to keep the guards quiet about your visit here, but I cannot say the same for Arabella. You don’t know what your father is capable of.”

  “More and more, I think I do.”

  “Then heed me.”

  “I have brought this,” I held out the letter I had written. “Can you see she gets it?”

  “Leave it with me.” He indicated that I should place it on the desk. “But I make no promises.”

  “Answer me this.” I put down the letter and stepped closer to the window, where the raven shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “Why do you stay here, when you could just as easily escape? It isn’t as though these buffoons can muster the means to stop you.”

  “They were not so shabby a lot when the Tower was in the care of Sir John Peyton. He demanded discipline of his Yeoman Warders and always treated me with kindness and respect. I vouchsafe your brother will restore this place to good order when he ascends the throne.”

  “You know you will be free the moment Henry wears the crown.”

  “Indeed. He has told me himself that when the day comes for him to stay here on the eve of his coronation, as is the custom, he shall personally instruct the chief Yeoman to listen upon the next morning for the cannon at Westminster Abbey that signals his crowning, at which,” Sir Walter pointed at the door, “the key shall be turned in that lock, and I shall walk hence a free man. But for now the matter is a delicate one.”

  “You should take leave of this place.”

  “Your father would send his men after me and I should doubtless be recaptured.”

  “But what if you sailed once more for the New World? When your cordial has made Henry well again, he would jump at the chance to go with you.”

  “Indeed, I did once broach that very subject with your father, but he would not hear of it.”

  “And I would come, too, if you would have me. I have a great longing to see it.”

  “You would doubtless find it a wild and frightening place.” He went to sit before the fire and bade me join him there. “The untamed land broods with a kind of savagery that lends a raw edge to each day’s blazing sun, and pale nakedness to the primitive moon of night.”

  “You speak of it as a poet might.”

  “And always the wilderness just beyond the gate.”

  “I think I should love it.” I sat down across from him.

  “A man may live in such a place and make of himself a king in his own right, with no one to answer to, and a few such men can change the world.”

  “The same might be said for a woman.” I straightened, fixed him with a steady gaze. “Where there are such kings, there can also be
queens.”

  “Indeed, Virginia is named for just such a one, that being your godmother.”

  “I should prefer to settle farther north. They say the Newfoundland is a glorious place. I have heard it is an island as rich as any on this side of the Atlantic. In any case, the New World seems better suited to my nature than this old one that sighs and moans under the weight of royal robes and courtly manners.”

  “You really wish to endure such hardship and isolation?” He leaned forward a little.

  “These same things exist here, only they are dressed up in the finery of stately decorum.”

  “Those traits a woman may consider an asset here are more like a liability there.”

  “So the place would make a new kind of woman out of me.”

  “Woman or man, to both it brings a kind of sleep at night, a kind of waking at break of day hitherto unknown. A certain disposition for work and industry, a willingness to forgo luxury, forsake comforts. There’s little room for human frailty.”

  I rose from my chair. “I would be put to the test.”

  “Madam.” He rose as I approached him. “It is hard, I tell you.”

  “Sir?”

  “You take me wrongly.”

  “You take me not at all.”

  He put his hand upon my waist and drew me nearer. “And what of the Palatine? Would you have him take you?”

  “Not wrongly.”

  “We play at words.”

  “And little else.”

  Footfalls sounded hollow upon the stone floor and stopped at the door. The Warder looked in through the bars. “Time, Your Sumptuousness,” he said, and turned the key.

  Sir Raleigh squeezed the vial into my waiting hands. I took it from him with great care, felt the warmth of the contents. He took up the cloak from the chair and draped it around my shoulders. I tucked the vial into one of the inner pockets.

  “Best take your leave,” Sir Raleigh said quietly, “though I say so with regret.” He turned to the guard. “Yeoman Warder, be sure to see to her Highness’s safe passage, or I shall find means to bring you to account.”

  “Very well, Sir, she will not come to harm. Come along, Your Grandness.”

  I followed the Yeoman down the hall, and when I was sure we were out of earshot from Sir Raleigh, hailed him to stop.

  “What would you have of me?” asked the Yeoman. “The hour is late and we must get you to the door.”

  “A moment if you please.”

  He turned to face me, waited.

  “I would enquire of Lady Arabella.”

  “You and some others. What of her?”

  “She’s here in the Tower?”

  “I know not her whereabouts.”

  “But there are those who do.”

  “It matters little. Your visit is at an end.”

  “Is there any way I might be allowed to see her, just for a moment?”

  “You have not paid for such a visit.”

  “I’ve given you plenty.”

  “It will take more than that to bring such about.”

  “If I come back with more, will you see to it?”

  “It will not be me you deal with.”

  “Whom, then?”

  “Those I must answer to.”

  “Tell me what I should do.”

  “You should put off this nattering and follow me. I’ll say no more. You are past your time.” He turned and walked ahead of me, checked to see that I followed. We made our way back down the stairs and along the darkened passageway, the Yeoman glancing now and then over his shoulder at me in a way that made me finger the vial concealed beneath my cloak, steel myself to employ it as weapon of barter if it should come to that. Then we were at the blackened door and he fumbled with the keys to unlock it. When I had gone through and the door had closed behind me, I turned to address him one last time through the bars of the small window.

  “There’s nothing more you can tell me?”

  “None but this: it were better that your royal personage should visit here no more. There’s mischief afoot in this place such as you were best to keep clear of.”

  With that his face disappeared and I heard his footfalls receding down the hallway. As I rode back to Richmond in the carriage, I thought what Arabella would think of me, if she learned that I had been so near and failed to visit her. I was disappointed that I had been defeated so easily and promised myself I would find a way to atone for it. But first I had to make my brother well again, and thereafter I should find the means to see to all the rest.

  Chapter Six

  Upon my arrival at St. James’s the next morning it was clear that word of my brother’s condition had spread, as I found the outer chambers occupied with courtiers mingling about, musicians and artists, politicians and clergymen, all of them eager to hear some news of the Prince’s condition, trusting that by blandishment of their concern the chances for an appointment might increase when he had recovered. Some were doubtless convinced that it could not be long before my brother should accede to the throne and by that ascendance see their ambitions realized. Others, though already in the employ of the King or Queen, were ready to jump ship, fearful that they should see an end to their privilege and profligacy, as there was bound to be less in the way of extravagant masques and frivolous building projects should Henry become king.

  As I made my way to the inner chambers I was forced to endure their fawnings and greetings, suffer myself to be bowed and curtsied to, acknowledge their entreaties of sympathy, until at last Lady Anne came to my rescue and I took refuge in a private antechamber, where to my surprise the Palatine and Count Schomberg were already seated, both of whom rose when I entered the room.

  “Your Highness,” Prince Frederick strode toward me. I studied the details of his apparel as he crossed the room. He took my hand and kissed it politely. “I wish it were under happier circumstances that we meet again,” he said, “and yet I confess I am glad to see you. I hope this is not too much of an intrusion. How is your brother?”

  “What is the meaning of this?” I looked over at Lady Anne. The Prince was wearing padded breeches with knee-length cannions and silk garters over laced leather shoes, and a fine embroidered doublet with ruff and flat lace collar, all of which I recognized at once.

  “Your Highness?”

  “Those clothes belong to Henry.”

  “I took the liberty of making some of Prince Henry’s wardrobe available to Prince Frederick,” said Lady Anne.

  “On whose authority did you so?”

  “We spoke at the play,” Prince Frederick explained, “and it was then your brother offered me the use of his wardrobe.”

  “I see. Still, it were better I had been consulted in this matter.”

  “You were busy with more pressing matters, Madam,” Lady Anne offered, “and I thought to spare you the details.”

  “Tell me, Sir, how is it you seek after the health of a man you hardly know, yet whose clothes you see fit to don? If you seek to curry favour by this means, you miss the mark.”

  “Madam, I make no affect,” the Prince brushed aside a few strands of thick dark hair that had curled down over his forehead, “and grant I know your brother only from a few short interludes, but you must believe I am in earnest.” I searched his face for something to betray his sincerity. “I will attest he and I have exchanged little more than a few words and handshakes, yet it were as though I had met the best companion of my life.” His features seemed darker, more mature than I last remembered. “I know not how else to give account but to beg your indulgence that I might be allowed to accompany you when you go in to see him.”

  “Then you’ve come for naught.”

  “You do not wish me to see him?”

  “It is not my indulgence you need pursue in the matter, as I am banished from his bedside, else I should
be there now and not here talking to you.”

  “But why should it be so?”

  “The King decrees it,” said Lady Anne.

  “On what grounds?” asked the Prince.

  “No doubt he fears a miasma in the room,” offered the Count, “and would not see Her Majesty exposed to it.”

  “He fears a great deal more than that,” I said, “but all the same his arguments are equally feeble.”

  Now a buzz went through the adjoining chambers and Dr. Mayerne stepped in from the far door in black gown and white collar, cap upon his head. “Oh, excuse me,” he offered, “I was just on my way through and this is the quickest route.” He was toting a carton of small glass vials in a carrying case. “Your Highness, if you have come to enquire after your brother, Dr. Butler can convey the latest reports.”

  “I would hear them from you. How does my brother?”

  “Neither better nor worse for the morning.” The Doctor was clearly annoyed, the tone of his words dismissive. “Give else enquiry to Dr. Butler if you must.”

  “You are in the midst of a procedure, dry cupping from the look of it.”

  “I will take my leave, Highness.”

  “You suspect some blockage of humours, I take it.”

  “I see you would yet grace us with your medical expertise.” Dr. Mayerne raised an eyebrow.

  “Bile, I should hope, for it will not work as well on other humours.”

  “Excuse me, but —”

  “I have a request.” I softened my tone. “If you will not allow me in to see him, will you at least grant that a musician may be allowed to go in and play for him, that it should bring him some small comfort?”

  “I concern myself not with such matters, Highness, but you may take it up with the groom of the chamber if you wish.”

  “And if he agrees, then it shall be permitted?” I persisted.

  “Yes, fine, but only for a few minutes. He must have his rest.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Now if you will excuse me.”

  I made my way to the anteroom, where as usual all were about, such as grooms and apothecaries, surgeons and attendants. I was alarmed to see the vicar there. It was clear the situation had worsened. I searched out Dr. Butler and pulled him aside.