Fire & Faith

by Steven Veerapen

  ‘Very well. Wait. Here is a friend of mine. Mistress Beauterne,’ he cried, ‘ho, mistress. What news?’

  Diane started at the sight of him, and then she smiled an impish grin. ‘You’ve caught me. I am come into the burgh to pick up some cloths,’ she said, skipping towards him, a length of purple draped over one arm. ‘For the dowager’s entertainments. Her tailor went off to the governor, so we must shift for ourselves, get what we can from the burgh. Mind, I enquired of books?’

  ‘Ah, yes. They were useful?’

  ‘Uh … Signor Bassano can turn his fellows’ lutes to anything, really.’

  ‘An entertainment?’ whispered Rowan. Her eyes had clouded. Danforth thought he saw something like longing in them.

  ‘Oui,’ said Diane. ‘What brings you to town, monsieur? And good day to you, Mistress Allen.’

  ‘Good day, Diane,’ said Rowan.

  ‘Are you to walk back up to the palace? I should be glad of the company.’

  ‘You came down here by yourself?’ asked Danforth.

  ‘Yes, sir. I hoped to be here and gone before the rain comes. You can feel it in the air.’

  ‘It is unwise to go jetting about alone,’ warned Danforth.

  ‘Mistress Allen here does so,’ chirped Diane.

  ‘It is hardly the same,’ said Danforth. Diane was a gentlewoman. Rowan Allen was … he was unsure what she was. ‘Mistress Allen belongs to the burgh. She knows it. You do not.’

  ‘It is but a short walk. Mr Guthrie offered to walk me, but I couldn’t bear listening to his chattering about God and so I sneaked out before he could come.’ She tinkled laughter, reached out and lightly touched Danforth’s arm. Rowan, he noticed, fixed her eyes on the gesture, her smile frozen in place. The politics of women, he thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. ‘Besides, I like taking the air. Especially now, shut up in the palace.’ She shivered. ‘Shall you both come back with me?’

  ‘Not yet. Perhaps Mistress Allen can take you. I can see to the business which brings me alone.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Diane. ‘I did not mean to break you up. Have you much to do?’

  ‘Not very much,’ said Rowan. ‘We must pick up some stuff from the apothecary over there. Excuse me,’ she barked at a woman who had nudged her elbow with a basket as she passed. The woman gave her a dirty look but kept moving. ‘Aye,’ called Rowan, ‘you keep walking, sweetheart. Sorry.’ Her attention returned to Diane. ‘We shan’t be a minute. Please wait on us.’

  They parted, Diane going off to look at some stallholders’ goods whilst Danforth and Rowan visited the apothecary. Inside the place was scrubbed clean, free of the usual bric-a-brac held by the conmen of the profession. No jars of exotic-looking organs or strangely-carved talismans sat on the shelves; no skulls hung from ropes suspended from the ceiling. There was not even a speck of dust drifting in the air, and the whole place smelled like mint. Behind the counter, a clean-shaven man of about forty stood measuring out powders, a pair of spectacles pinched to his nose. He was well built, thought Danforth, although slightly anaemic-looking. He did not look up but held up a finger on his free hand. ‘Won’t be a moment.’

  Rowan and Danforth waited until he had finished. ‘Good Mistress Allen,’ he said. ‘And a friend.’ He looked at Danforth through the spectacles, up and down, before removing them. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Danforth opened his mouth to speak, but Rowan got in first. ‘This is Mr Danforth, a gentleman of the lord cardinal.’

  ‘Aye,’ said the apothecary. ‘The livery. Good day to you, sir. I’m Mr Dunn.’

  ‘A pleasure to meet you.’

  ‘Mr Danforth’s friend has been pierced with an arrow.’

  Dunn blew a low whistle. ‘Nasty. Where?’

  ‘Through the armpit,’ said Danforth, the words tumbling out. ‘Clean through.’

  ‘Have you washed and dressed the wound, mistress?’ Rowan pouted, one black eyebrow arched. ‘Of course. Well, what do you need?’

  ‘He wants something for the pain,’ said Danforth. It was an irritating feeling, being part of a conversation in which he was the only stranger. ‘Something to ease it.’

  ‘Well I didn’t think he’d want something to increase it,’ laughed Dunn. His teeth were prominent, all there, all white. ‘Tell me, what does your lad eat?’

  ‘Eat?’

  ‘Aye. I need to know his constitution.’

  ‘He eats anything he can get his hands on,’ said Danforth. ‘And living at the palace … salmon, rich sauces, cheese, bread – good manchet, not the cheap stuff – some–’

  ‘That’ll do. He’s a rich liver, then?’

  ‘He tries to be.’

  ‘Tell him to stop trying to be.’ Dunn had a no-nonsense manner, abrupt, but not intentionally rude. ‘Was the food served hot?’

  ‘Not especially.’

  Dunn tutted. ‘That’s the worst of places like yon palace. Food that ought to be eaten hot, eaten cold. It leads to melancholy, an excess of black bile and phlegm. You get some hot food in him.’

  ‘And for the pain?’ asked Danforth.

  Dunn disappeared under the counter, popping up with some thin vials held between his fingers. ‘Get these on his wound. He can rub them in himself.’ He held them out, the muscles on his arms flexing.

  ‘They will dull his pains? What are they?’

  ‘Honey. And powdered ore of antimony. Tell him to use the honey first. They won’t ease his pain, but they will do much more. They will clean out the wound, stop infection getting in from the bad airs you have living amongst such a crowd.’

  ‘But it is pain he asked to be dulled,’ pressed Danforth. Dunn tutted, apparently irritated that his solution had not been met with praise. He reached under the counter and produced another stoppered vial. ‘He might try this. Mostly pure water, but there is a touch of hemlock and henbane in it. He should drink it.’

  ‘This will work?’ asked Danforth.

  ‘It will if you tell him it will. And if you get some hot food in him to get the body working as it should.’

  Danforth considered this as he slid the vials inside his robes and fetched out his purse. As he paid, he let his voice turn casual. ‘That is a rare thing, hemlock. Henbane too.’

  ‘Aye. Don’t care for it myself. It’s all a lot of trash.’

  ‘Come on now,’ said Rowan. ‘Mr Dunn, really – the ancients knew the properties of these things. They act on the body.’

  ‘The ancients,’ sniffed Dunn, ‘were a lot of pagans who walked around without shoes, amongst the weeds, like the heathens they were.’

  ‘Yet they founded the civilised world. Isn’t that right, Mr Danforth?’

  Danforth gave a tight little nod, unwilling to be drawn into a pointless argument. ‘I cannot say,’ he said. ‘Perhaps. Forget it. Master Apothecary, I … I should like to ask you something else.’ He cleared his throat, putting a finger to his lips.

  ‘Of course,’ said Dunn. ‘Ask away.’

  ‘It is of a private nature, personal.’ He cast an apologetic look at Rowan. ‘Mistress, would you leave us?’

  ‘God’s wounds,’ she said. ‘You are a sensitive soul.’

  ‘Please.’

  Appearing to hold back laughter, Rowan shrugged, easing her basket into the crook of her elbow. ‘Suit yourself. I’ll go and find Diane. We shall await your escort back to the palace. I can help Martin with his medicines.’

  When the door at shut behind her, Danforth let the sheepishness fall away. He congratulated himself silently on his acting prowess. ‘Now, Master Apothecary, to business, and quickly.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Dunn, winking. ‘You wish something for your master the lord cardinal. Don’t worry, the priest at St Michael’s sends his boys down for pox treatments for his baths, and I’ve –’

  ‘What? No! How dare you speak of his Grace thus. I have a good mind to report your slanders!’

  ‘Peace, sir. I meant no offence. It’s for yourself then? Forgi
ve me, but you didn’t seem the type to let nether parts wither from–’

  ‘It is not the pox, nothing like that,’ snapped Danforth, crossing his arms. ‘No, sir. I have no need of medicines but information. What I seek to know is whether there Is there much call,’ he asked, ‘for these items, these dangerous items. In quantities enough to kill.’

  The word hung in the air, Dunn’s face paling. ‘Kill?’ he asked. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean do you ever have people coming in here looking for enough of such stuff to kill?’

  ‘I … I don’t hold enough dangerous stuff.’ The man was hiding something. ‘Folk can ask, but if they know me they know better.’

  ‘Who asked, Mr Dunn?’

  Dunn sighed, before coming around from behind the counter. He went to the door and opened it, looking out. Seemingly satisfied, he closed it again. ‘Look, Mr Danforth. In this profession, yes, of course there are sometimes folk who think to fool me into giving them dangerous medicines. But I am nobody’s fool. I send them away, fleas in their ears.’

  ‘Was there one such in recently? Last week, or around that time?’

  Dunn went back behind the counter, as though it were a defensive barrier. ‘Christ, someone’s died, haven’t they? Someone’s been bloody murdered.’ Danforth stared, saying nothing. ‘I didn’t … it was such a foolish moment, I thought it someone at a caper.’ He bent forward before collapsing on a stool and leaning on the counter, his head in his hands. Was it genuine, wondered Danforth, that distress of his? It seemed so.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Danforth, keeping his voice low and level.

  ‘Last week,’ said Dunn, looking up. ‘Some foolish creature came in here, all swathed in a blue cloak. Hooded. I couldn’t see their face.’ Danforth frowned. ‘It happens often. A goodwife in looking for something to revive her husband’s member, but not wishing her identity known. Young men and women in looking for love potions but hiding their faces. I tell them, I say just mind what you eat – there’s no surer enemy to love than foul breath. And aye, sometimes they ask for poisons. Och, never to kill, oh no. To take care of rats or cats. To help them sleep. To dull pain.’

  ‘Who was this person, a man or a woman? What did they say?’ asked Danforth.

  ‘As I said, they were wearing a cloak. I should say it was a man, but of course the voice was disguised, false. Asking for unhealthy doses of hemlock or anything like it. To put a sick man to sleep. Oh aye, I get that too. The relatives of the dying asking for something to speed them to God. To put an end to the pain. I … I thought it was that. And so I said … I told them that they’d have nothing by me. But that if they needed aught of that nature, they could find it themselves.’

  ‘But you did not say what to pick, nor where to find it?’ asked Danforth.

  ‘No, sir. Of course not. I simply said that they might find the knowledge themselves. Either by a man with such knowledge who wasn’t me, or from a book. And some luck they would need finding either. Look, you won’t say anything, will you? I didn’t report it – but I never do. I would be run out of the burgh if I went around reporting every person who behaved oddly or asked for odd things.’

  Danforth grunted, but more in assent than anger. His mind had turned elsewhere: to the denuded library at Linlithgow. Every royal library was bound to have one – likely more – volumes on herbs and medicines, for the household physician to consult when necessary. Diane had told him that the bulk of the books had been packed up and shipped to Stirling, when Marie had still harboured hopes of escaping there. It would have been a simple thing for someone in the household – or even a palace domestic – to lift one of those books.

  ***

  Danforth found Diane with Rowan, still in the market cross. To her arm she had added some pink and blue cloth, all of it neatly folded. ‘Merci, monsieur,’ she said, thrusting the material at Danforth.

  ‘What?’ he said, holding it as though it were toxic. ‘What do I want with such a load?’

  ‘You are a gentleman,’ said Rowan, grinning, ‘to carry a gentlewoman’s things for her.’ She and Diane dissolved in laughter, and Danforth frowned, his cheeks blazing as he walked out of the market cross, his arms a confusion of purple, pink, and blue, flanked by women. Someone in the crowd wolf-whistled. Danforth turned, furious, to see that it was Cam Hardie. He looked away, his chin high.

  They climbed up the hill, past the Song School and Tolbooth, the palace looming in front of them. As Danforth felt his calves stretch, Rowan and Diane chattered. He let them prattle, eager to be free. That was funny – previously, freedom had meant getting out of the gilded cage, not into it. After only a few minutes he noticed, however, that Rowan trailed off from whatever nonsense she was spouting. ‘Something is wrong, Mistress Allen?’

  ‘No, no. It’s just. Well, I’m being followed again. We all are.’

  ‘Here,’ said Danforth, thrusting the bundle of cloth at Diane. He turned, expecting to see Cam Hardie again. Instead, tottering a good distance behind them was a blue-cloaked figure. His blood froze. ‘You ladies go on in. Take yourselves to the queen’s apartments with these things. And here,’ he added, after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Take these to Martin afterwards.’ He dug out the vials and passed them to Rowan. She and Diane looked at one another before hurrying past St Michael’s and through the gate. Danforth followed, walking backwards. There was something odd about the creature shambling after them, its gait awkward and ungainly. When he reached the hall to the porter’s little guardhouse, he stuck his head in.

  The room had undergone a change. The usual porter seemed to have been stripped of his authority, Forrest himself making his mark. He sat on a stool, sharpening a dagger. Weapons had been lined up everywhere, in ordered rows. Absurdly, Danforth’s gaze landed on a little mounted wooden sword. His surprise must have shown on his face. ‘My son’s first sword,’ said Forrest without expression. ‘What do you want, Mr Danforth?’

  ‘There is someone entering the palace,’ he said, a tremor rising in his throat. ‘A fellow has followed me up from the burgh. All cloaked in blue.’

  Forrest was on his feet.

  ‘You’ve paid some urchin to play your ghost, have you?’ he smirked. He stepped past Danforth as the figure appeared outside. ‘State your business,’ he snapped. ‘Who are you?’

  The figure turned towards Forrest’s voice and rasped something. ‘What did he say?’ asked Danforth. Forrest ignored him. The figure croaked again, and this time the meaning was clearer.

  ‘I have a message for the queen’s wet nurse.’

  ‘What the hell? Are you a friend of hers?’ barked Forrest. ‘Uncover yourself.’

  ‘Only … for the queen’s nurse. I must give her …’ he stopped to wheeze. ‘A warning. From France. Remember … Queen Madeleine.’

  ‘I said show yourself, you wretch.’ Forrest leant forward and jerked the hood back. Then both he and Danforth jolted away from the figure. The face was mostly eaten away, a mass of sores and running phlegm. Some foul disease seemed to be leaking out from each pore. ‘Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,’ said Forrest. He had raised one sleeve to his face, as Martin had done to stem his nosebleed. His other arm became flash of brown, steel flashing briefly at its end. To Danforth’s horror, he stabbed the dying man through the heart.

  16

  ‘Sweet Mary, mother of God! What are you about, woman, sneaking around like that? I just saw … I thought for a moment you were the demon, haunting the halls! Have a care! Heh. Are you well? What in God’s own name’s happened out there? All this noise, it’s like a hellish choir.’

  ‘No, I’m quite well. I don’t know – I was going to ask you. I’m sorry to have frightened you.’

  ‘Och, och … no harm done, lass. Well I’ll go sniff it out. If you need anything, you come to me. Anything. Heh. Without church services in the town, we might pray together. Does no good for a young lass like yourself to be without God’s love.’

  The voices drifted into Martin’s
semi-slumber, one soft and mocking, the other querulous. He tried to push them away. But they were replaced by a skreeeeing sound. His eyes flew open. Someone was forcing their way in.

  ‘Thank God you’re alive,’ said Rowan, looking down before stepping around the dislodged barrier. Before going to sleep, Martin had pushed the little box that served as the room’s table against the door. He had reasoned that it was better than nothing. It was, but not by much.

  ‘Eh?’ asked Martin. He had been dozing. It was strange – the more sleep he got, the more his body seemed to crave. He started at the sight of the dark skin and the cloud of hair escaping its cap.

  ‘I came down from the dowager’s rooms just now and there was a great tumult, as though the Greeks were storming the walls.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ His voice was thick still.

  ‘I don’t know. Mr Danforth and I – Mistress Beauterne too – we all came up from the town. Some strange creature was following us, and Mr Danforth said to come in. So we did. Then when I came down I saw someone being carried out on a board, a sheet over them. I thought it might be you.’

  ‘No, I’m fine. Mr Danforth?’ His eyes widened, and he began to rise.

  ‘Stay,’ she said. ‘I just saw him, but I couldn’t speak. He forced himself right past me, with the depute of the guard. Up into the dowager’s rooms. A face like Furor, both of them.’

  ‘Well, as long as he’s unhurt,’ said Martin. ‘Have you spoken with anyone since you saw all that?’

  ‘Only that old goat Guthrie, but he’s useless.’

  ‘I don’t know. Mr Danforth taught me that gossips might sometimes be goldmines. If you’re willing to dig.’