The Queen's Bastard

by Robin Maxwell

  “I take it, then, that you subscribe to the teachings of Copernicus, Arthur,” said the Queen with equal gravity. “That neither biblical evidence nor God’s own voice speaking through his church prove that the earth is the center of the universe? That the firmament moves because the earth rotates?”

  “I do believe full well in the theories of Copernicus, Your Majesty,” he pronounced firmly. “His calculations showing the earth rotating on its axis, and the planets revolving round the sun, are most logical.”

  “Indeed,” said Elizabeth with a smile, “we live in wondrous times. First the shape of the world is called into doubt, and now the shape of the heavens themselves. We must be very brave to meet the future, for we have little idea what our explorations might bring us.”

  “I pray they bring us no more destruction such as Señor Cortez visited upon the conquered peoples of the New World, ”grumbled John Dee.“ The Spaniards burned the ancient Mayan libraries, saying the books contained nothing but superstitions and falsehoods about the devil. Think of what was lost to us in that one act of idiocy.”

  “Unpardonable. Like the Turks when they burned the library at Alexandria,” added Mary Sidney.

  “Oh, oooh,” moaned Dee, seeming almost in physical pain at the thought. “What we might have learned from those texts …”

  “Come, John,” crooned Katherine Dee soothingly. “What’s done is done. You’ll upset your stomach crying over lost libraries.”

  “Speaking of libraries,” said Robin Dudley with determined cheerfulness, “might we begin our afternoon’s pleasures in yours, Doctor?”

  “Yes, yes,” said Dee, pushing back his bench and regathering his good spirits. “I’ve added a new room to the others, you must have noticed when you drove in.”

  Everyone stood, Philip nearly knocking his stool over in excitement.

  “I’ve done — I should say Arthur and I have done — a great deal of work on our collection, have we not, boy?” Arthur Dee puffed with silent pride at his father’s approbation. “We’ve separated the books and manuscripts into those of philosophy, science, mathematics, Hermetic sciences …” Dee, churning with enthusiasm, was already out one door through a curtained archway into another room when Robin Dudley offered the Queen his arm. With an anticipatory gleam in her eyes Elizabeth took it, and together they strode into Doctor Dee’s fantastical world.

  Even at the height of the afternoon the light was faint in the musty rooms of England’s greatest library, for the doctor had, besides the neat rows of books lining the shelves, so many volumes stacked on tables and in piles on the threadbare Turkey carpet that the small windows were nearly blocked by them.

  Elizabeth’s senses were at once alive with the musk of vellum and leather and ink in her nostrils, the hushed and whispering tones most naturally assumed in the presence of such splendor, the muted colors of the wood and paper, the sizes and shapes of books — some small enough to fit inside a lady’s hand, others when opened covering the breadth of a table. Here was an illuminated medieval manuscript lying open to be studied, here a parchment scroll in Hebrew text, its curling ends held down by carven Egyptian stones, there a mariner’s map of the African coast.

  The library was not one vast chamber, rather a warren of small rooms and alcoves and window seats, all crammed with books. John and Arthur Dee shadowed their guests, holding up mirrored candles for extra light as they roved amongst the stacks quietly reading titles, perhaps choosing one to be pulled down from the shelves and reverently laid upon a table for perusal.

  For Elizabeth, and she knew for the others as well, such a place as this conjured up childhood memories of the schoolroom, the first brilliant moments of a young mind’s life of learning — seeking, thirsting, feeding greedily upon the words and ideas of the great masters, ancient languages. Even now Elizabeth spent an hour or more daily translating Greek and Latin texts as a joyful pastime. Here amongst such a vast treasure of man’s greatest works she felt not so much a mighty queen as an overawed child.

  Over the top of the volume she held, Elizabeth gazed at John Dee helping Lady Mary, now ensconced in a window seat, with the translation of a passage from Homer. It occurred to her then that this was a man whom she should keep close to herself, for whether she countenanced each and all of his pursuits or no, Dee was a person of eminent power and resource, and a true friend of England.

  Now Robin had joined his sister and Dee, and the three were conversing ever more animatedly. Mary’s eyes flashed, Dee gesticulated broadly as he made a point. Elizabeth’s curiosity too much to bear, she replaced the volume she was reading on the shelf and moved quietly to the window seat.

  “’Tis no wonder you’ve collected so many enemies, John, both Protestant and Catholic,” observed Robin, “if it is true that the Hermetic texts glorify man as magus and, by virtue of his divine intellect, equate him with God.”

  “Yes, yes!” cried Dee. “Through intellect alone man can perform marvelous feats! The divine order is no longer man under God, but God and man standing shoulder to shoulder.”

  “You are a mystery to me, Doctor,” interjected Elizabeth. “You are as pious and filled with Christian humility as a man can be, yet you are entirely arrogant in your claims of equality with God, and your pagan beliefs in magic.”

  “In Hermetic philosophy, Your Majesty, man is raised from awestruck observer of God’s wonders to one who uses the hidden energy and power of the cosmos to his own advantage.” Dee’s eyes grew suddenly unfocused and he seemed almost to recede from them. “Energy is manifested in circular rays,”he whispered, his hands unconsciously demonstrating his words. “Emitted from everything in the universe … circular rays …” His voice trailed off.

  “And is it through the working of this ‘hidden energy’ that you perform your marvels, John?” Elizabeth inquired.

  The question seemed to bring him back to them. Dee turned to the Queen. “You will perform marvels in your reign, Your Majesty,” he uttered portentously, “through the coalescing of natural forces within your imagination. See the thing in your mind first!” he commanded her. “See it very clearly, and eventually it will come into being, yes!”

  Elizabeth felt giddy, entirely bereft of words. Robin and Mary stared in amazement at Dee, this man who dared to speak so audaciously to a queen. He went on, his voice rising.

  “You must build a great navy, yes! Advance exploration and expansion into the new territories to the west. You have examined my genealogical tables outlining your family’s historical claims. Through your father, King Henry, you are come from Wales and descended from the line of Great King Arthur, Majesty. ’Tis your sacred duty to build a British empire as he once did!” Dee was trembling with emotion. “Your claim to the Atlantean lands which the Spanish call America, those lands are yours,” he ended, his voice rising still further.

  “Father,” said Arthur Dee, and placed a quieting hand on John Dee’s arm.

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” mumbled Dee. He dropped to his knees before Elizabeth and took her hand in his, kissing the coronation ring and bowing his head. “Forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, John. You spoke plainly from your heart and mind, and I like what you say. My father laid down the great shipyards at Newport and Plymouth. Mayhaps I should put them to better use. Come, rise.”

  John Dee stood and Elizabeth took his arm. Together they strolled through a low archway into the science collection. Robin and Mary smiled with relief, listening to the Queen ramble on about her man Francis Drake and his first successful voyage to the New World.

  “One calamity averted, dear sister,” whispered Dudley. “But what adventures await us tonight in this den of pagan idolatry?”

  The afternoon had passed without further incitement. All were nestled cozily amongst the great books, happy in their quiet pleasures. John Dee, in one of his practical laboratories, extolling the virtues of applied science, had demonstrated the concept of invisible energy with a large magnet, and the
importance of optics, which made far-off things seem near and small things great. But he had drawn sniffs of disbelief from even his most ardent supporters when he described how a vacuum, and air pumped from a cauldron, could be employed to keep a man under the sea for a time.

  The rain had begun again after a light supper, but since the party would lodge at Mortlake that night there was no alarm, and the evening proceeded at a leisurely pace.

  The boys abed, John Dee cleared his throat loudly. With an almost mischievous grin showing his long ivory teeth, his bony fingers thumping his chest, he inquired, “Would you care to taste a little of the magic arts?”

  Where the friends had sat moments before were now but empty benches, for they had risen as one, and with such enthusiasm that there was great laughter all round. They walked back through the nest of library rooms and reassembled at the closed door of an as yet unexplored chamber. Dee unlocked the door and, with a twelve-pronged candelabra in hand, led his guests into his famous magic laboratory.

  This odd room had five equal sides, the floor painted with lines from corner to corner in a five-pointed star. The chamber was devoid of furniture or books, save one overlarge volume which lay open on a pedestal and appeared ancient and well worn. Dead center in the room, within the pentagon formed by the lines of the star, was an object four feet square, waist high, covered entirely by a black silk drape painted in red with mystical symbols.

  “The magic which I practice, Your Majesty,” Dee began, ignoring the group’s quizzical stares at the object, “Hermetic magic, is none other than the science of the divine. ’Tis a direct revelation from God, you must understand, and therefore cannot possibly be evil. You may not know that Hermes Trismegistus — the most pious of Egyptian priests who lived before the time of Christ, and whose original treatises form the basis of the Hermetic tradition — actually foretold the coming of Christianity, yes!”Dee paused only long enough to take a breath.“As you have noted, Majesty, I am a religious man, and you should know that the highest attainment I seek through my magic is salvation through divine abilities … albeit without the church’s intervention and with only God’s help.”

  Elizabeth refrained from replying, from acknowledging Dee’s apology, or otherwise speaking, for she knew this was the lecture of a great teacher, and she was humble before him.

  “’Tis common knowledge,” he went on, “that the stars influence everything on earth, bathing all in their heavenly effluvia. The magus performs his many marvels by manipulation of those effluvia. A magician such as myself could, theoretically, change the stars themselves, even control the heavenly powers, yes!”

  Elizabeth was thunderstruck at the boldness of Dee’s statement but she forced herself to remain silent.

  “My body, however, would be entirely destroyed in the attempt,” he added with a wry smile, “so I will refrain from such an experiment this evening.”

  At that there was a flurry of relieved laughter, and now the man strode purposefully to the center of the room where, with a great sweeping gesture, he flung the black silken drape from the object hidden beneath it. There were low gasps all round, for in the many years of the Dudley family’s friendship and tutoring they had never been allowed the sight of Doctor Dee’s magic accoutrements.

  The object was a four-sided claw-footed table of normal height, though that was where the normalcy ended. Painted in an astonishing kaleidoscope of brilliant colors — vermillion, royal blue, pea green, violet — its carven sides were covered in characters, hieroglyphs, and esoteric names written all in vivid yellow. A seal had been placed under the four claw feet, and a great seal was set in the center of the table. The tabletop itself was covered in bright red silk, and upon the central seal sat a smooth, perfectly round black crystal gazing glass.

  As everyone stood gaping at the sight of the table, Dee had been lighting a multitude of candles set round the room’s perimeter, so that now the gazing glass blazed with a brilliant reflection.

  “Move back … if you please,” said Doctor Dee to his guests as he pulled two benches up to opposite sides of the table. “Madame.” He gestured for Elizabeth to take a seat on one bench and, with no fanfare, took the other. Then he reached across and grasped each of her hands in his own.

  The room was suddenly still, those assembled loath even to breathe too heavily. There was portent in the air, for the Queen of England sat before the greatest magician in the land, conjuring visions of King Arthur and his magus Merlin. Robin could see the round tops of Elizabeth’s milky breasts heaving rhythmically, and a single bead of sweat forming at her temple. She bit her lip to stop it trembling.

  John Dee closed his eyes and began to drone in measured verse a Hebrew chant in a strange, low and guttural voice that bore no resemblance to his own. Over and over he sang the words. They ran together and the unintelligible babble filled the listeners’ heads with endless sound, endless sound… . Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance. Eyelids grew heavy. Elizabeth’s were the last to close.

  When John Dee spoke next, it was neither his usual voice nor the guttural one of Hebrew chanting. It was clearly the voice of a young woman. First there was a great exhalation of breath, almost a cry, “Iieeee!” Then the words, clear and simple, “I hold the hands of a queen.”

  There was silence. Robin Dudley, Mary and Henry Sidney, mildly startled at the woman’s intonation emanating from Dee’s mouth, awaited further utterances, for the words themselves had so far been unremarkable — a simple statement of fact.

  But Elizabeth’s eyes flew open as a shuddering bolt of recognition shook her, body and soul. These were the words, the very words spoken by the young Holy Maid of Kent, when Anne Boleyn sought to hear her future in the Convent St. Sepulchre almost thirty-four years before! How? How could it be that this man could know, could utter in that voice a prophecy given her dear mother all those years ago? The first words of the very seeing that would impel Anne to cast her fate into King Henry’s hands and lead her to her doom? No one knew of it but Elizabeth and old Lady Sommerville, who had brought the diary to Elizabeth. And that lady … no, ’twas impossible! The Queen peered round at the others in the candlelit shadows, their eyes still closed. No one knew her turmoil. Could they not hear her heart thumping wildly in her chest?

  The magus exhaled once more, long and slow. Elizabeth held her breath, terrified of what Dee would next say. Should she stop him from continuing? No, she could not. The man, the magus, was certainly involved with the manipulation of celestial effluvia, reasoned Elizabeth. If she should interrupt him at such a time, might his body not be destroyed? She could never be responsible for such a thing!

  But John Dee had grown quiet. Mayhaps, thought Elizabeth, he had finished with his seeing. Mayhaps she had imbued the simple words he’d spoken with far too much importance. He had, in fact, been holding the hands of a queen. And the young woman’s voice … who was Elizabeth to say ’twas the Holy Maid of Kent’s voice? She was simply over-wrought.

  But now the room had begun to change. The air had somehow thickened. There seemed to be a strange humming, though Elizabeth could not tell if it was inside her head or coming from a great distance. And suddenly her nostrils were assailed with the unmistakable scent of fresh flowers, the delicate spicy fragrance of roses … Tudor roses. But the room was closed. And there were no roses in bloom. Elizabeth began to swoon. John Dee was yet blind to the world. She looked to Robin, who stood swaying slightly, his eyes still closed. There was an almost questioning look about his beautiful face. Was he smelling the roses too?

  “Ahhh,” moaned John Dee.

  Elizabeth turned and saw a smile soften the magician’s face.

  “A life,” he whispered. “A soul.”

  What was his meaning? she wondered.

  “Within you, Elizabeth” — he answered her silent question — “a child is growing.”

  Her heart heaved. No, he could not mean … Impossible! She dared not meet Robin’s eyes.

  “A son,” cried
Dee. “A son, yes!”

  “Enough!” roared Elizabeth, wrenching her hands from Dee’s, uncaring now of breaking a celestial spell. ’Twas a hoax, this magic! Robin and Mary Sidney rushed to the Queen’s side, patting her hands and trying to comfort her. The magus, though glassy-eyed and startled with the suddenness of his return to present reality, seemed otherwise intact.

  Elizabeth attempted to compose herself. Had the others heard? Did Dee himself remember that, a moment before, he had announced that the Queen of England was pregnant with an illegitimate child?

  She pushed back her chair and glared down at John Dee and his infernal gazing crystal. He was aware that something had gone terribly wrong. The Queen, he could see, was very, very angry. But helpless and momentarily weak, all he could do was lift his hand in a silent supplication of forgiveness.

  “John Dee,” she said finally. “I have accepted your gracious hospitality this whole day long and I am grateful for it. You are a friend of my friends and of England too. But I do not approve of your magic, for it is false, and causes you to speak falsely in its name. Good evening to you all.”

  She turned and, pushing out the door, was gone.

  With a look to his dazed companions, Robin followed. He reached her as she marched through the darkened library.

  “Elizabeth!”

  “I do not wish your company.”

  “Please, listen.”

  “Listen? To what? More lies? I am not pregnant, Robin. Can never be pregnant. I do not bleed like other women. You know that.”

  “Yes, I know. Where are you going, Elizabeth?” She was heading to the front door of the farmhouse.

  “I’m going to Greenwich.”

  “Tonight? Are you mad? The storm is peaking. I will not let you go!”

  “You cannot make me stay.”

  He stood defiantly blocking her way.

  “Call my carriage or I will call it myself. I will send a coach for you all tomorrow.”