The Vampire Files Anthology

by P. N. Elrod

  Grabbing up one corner of a robe, I drew it over his bloated face. Had he not been in garb familiar to me I should never have recognized him.

  I had seen men die from paroxysmal fits when their hearts stop, and I’d seen what the ravages of contagion could do to a body, but this. . .a bitterly cold hand closed hard around my spirit. What had taken my brother away was neither fit nor sickness.

  The fear I’d felt before was a pale thing compared to what seized me now, for now I was round full with terror.

  And I dared not show it.

  “Lord Claudius?”

  I looked at Polonius. . .and wondered. Could he. . . ?

  Thus did he return my look. I saw my own thoughts running panicked behind his blue eyes.

  “You remember?” I asked.

  He nodded, his lips thin with the effort to compress them together, lest he speak anything aloud.

  “And think you it was I who did this?”

  “I think nothing, your lordship,” he said most carefully.

  I was too stunned to be angered. “I understand your suspicion, but. . .see me, good friend.”

  “Lord Claudius, I—”

  “See me!”

  He looked from me to Hamlet’s shrouded form and back. Polonius seemed balanced on the very edge of a cliff.

  I had to pull him from it. “Recall you the service of my whole life as I recall yours. You above all others know my heart and the honest love I bear my brother—a match to your own, is it not?”

  He teetered for a long moment, then cast his gaze downward. “I am most desperately shamed, lord. ’Tis a wicked devil who placed doubt in my mind.”

  “And mine, too.”

  I took up his trembling hand, seeing truth and trust restored in his withered features and with each fresh tear that started from his eyes. “So, despite our knowledge of such dark matters we are guiltless of this deed. That leaves us to find who is responsible. Who and how.”

  “And why,” he added, wiping his cheek with his sleeve.

  “Then avenge ourselves and Denmark for this treason.”

  The physician and the priest, one for Hamlet’s body, the other for his soul, both arriving far too late, came up the path. I withdrew as they each tended to their spheres of influence, notwithstanding their appalled reactions to the condition of the king’s body.

  While the priest continued with prayers, the physician approached us and bowed. He seemed shaken, but who would not be?

  “Your lordship,” he said to me. “If it please you, I am most heartily sorry that—”

  “What caused my royal brother’s death, sir?” I said abruptly. “Speak plainly and quick.”

  “Sir, I believe it was poison that left him in so lamentable a state.”

  My heart fell. If word got out that the majesty of Denmark had been murdered. . .

  “What poison?” asked Polonius, assuming an air of reservation.

  “Most likely from an adder slipped over the wall.”

  What? My surprise was genuine. Was the man a fool? But perhaps his experience was insufficient to the task. He was very young, having taken over most of the duties of his father, who had taught him his skills. Not well enough, it appeared.

  Polonius and I exchanged a look. A shared memory was the cause of our moment of shared distrust. We both knew no serpent’s sting would bring about such a putrid sweating as to leave a body bloated and stinking in the space of a few hours. Only a powerful poison could do that—one crafted and distilled by an expert hand.

  Twenty years and more ago, as a young courtier dispatched to Italy, it had been my lot to learn of a death by identical means of dispatch. A cuckolded gentleman, unable to give challenge because of his advanced years, chose to kill his wife’s lover by poison. The artificial infection (it was found) was poured into the unfortunate’s ear as he slept and shortly he succumbed to convulsions, the sweat, and the bleeding, passing in terrible pain from this life to the next. The husband was judged to be within his rights and acquitted, and his wife took herself away to a nunnery, which, considering the nature of her marriage, was a much safer place to be than home.

  I’d brought the tale back to Denmark, telling it to Polonius, among others, but only he knew the particular signs of that concoction, which was called juice of hebenon, though it was made of many other things as well. Some might know the name, but not its nature or how to make it. And like myself, my old friend could not tell a henbane plant from rosemary.

  Yet still we stared at one another, for he had memory of the story the same as I. But by that we each knew the other would have instantly known, therefore, neither could have done it. Only someone else. . .

  “An adder?” Polonius questioned sharply. “Are you sure? What sort?”

  “There are many,” said the doctor. “I know of none whose bite would ordinarily cause such a reaction. However, just as one man may suffer the sting of a bee and move on while another falls and dies from it, I believe his majesty may have had the same susceptibility as the latter wretch. If he was overly sensitive to the venom, then would he quickly succumb with great violence to it. Perhaps, bitten while he slept, he awoke too late to call for help and thus passed from life.”

  Polonius nodded and looked to me. The explanation was reasonable, and though we knew it the wrong one, we had no choice but to make it serve for the moment.

  “Then the orchard must be searched from top to bottom,” I said. “If such a serpent is loose here, none are safe. Perhaps it pleased God to take our king from us in such a hasty and terrible manner, but I am not pleased and would have the instrument of His use destroyed.”

  “Presently, your lordship,” said Polonius. “That shall be seen to presently, but there are other necessities pressing. We must organize. The other lords must be informed, and dear God, but the poor queen must be told.”

  This would destroy her, I thought. Gentle Gertrude hung on my brother’s every word as though her life came from him and not Heaven. “I will do that. And it must be done softly. She cannot see her husband while he is in so abhorrent a state. Her ladies should be at hand, and you as well, doctor. You will also be needed to see to the cleansing of my poor brother’s body and to stop rumors of plague or pox so none may take alarm. See to it.”

  “I am at your service, my lord.”

  Polonius threw him a sharp look at the error. I was not king, and therefore not his or anyone else’s lord, but the old man couldn’t say so to him while I was in hearing.

  I shook my head at Polonius, so he saw it was of small matter to me, which it was; we had larger matters to discuss.

  But not now. I could hold my grief back no longer. I turned quickly from them and walked a few paces into the trees to escape their sight, and there gave in to it. They would doubtless hear my sobs, but allow me the necessary privacy for as long as it took until the first wave subsided. It was my lot to set things in motion. In the days to come my public duties would intrude upon my private mourning. But for this hour I ached bitterly at this unexpected sundering from my onetime playmate, lifelong friend, and finally king. My beloved brother was dead, and I felt his loss like a mortal wounding from a dull blade.

  * * *

  When my parents died, it had fallen to others to see to the forms and processions of grief. I was able to mourn for as long and as deeply as my soul needed. Now the heavy responsibilities were on me, and I had few friends to help with the burdens. But that dear old man, Polonius, proved to be my greatest ally, advisor, and most trusted support through the worst of it.

  My position in Denmark’s court had never been an enthusiastic one, for there were many lords who vied to be my late brother’s favorite and thus was I mistakenly perceived as an interloper ready to subvert their ambitions. They were fools to think their links to him could prove stronger than my own constant link of blood. Certainly Hamlet found grim amusement in their antics. However, their ever-shifting games of vanity and power were nothing to me; I did not play. It was far better
to watch than participate in such politic comedies.

  There was also a most important detail that these strivers continually overlooked: I had no desire to increase my power nor possessed designs on the throne. That sovereign seat was destined to go to my nephew, young Hamlet, and he was welcome to it. In the course of years, if I was spared, I fully expected to serve the Danish cause as his loyal ambassador in his turn.

  But his father’s sudden death at this, the worst possible time, usurped his anticipated succession. Within a week Fortinbras—who was clearly preparing to take back the lands his father lost to us—would hear of King Hamlet’s passing; within a week after that the young firebrand’s armies would be ravaging those border lands he wished to reclaim, shattering our long peace and prosperity beyond mending for years to come.

  Fortinbras would not—with his aspirations to glory—stop at the disputed borders, though, but continue from Elsinore to Esbjerg, taking everything between in bloody conquest. The Danish nobles would defend each their several lands, but not unite to effectively defend Denmark as a whole unless they had a king to lead them. Separately they would fall, only together could we triumph.

  But Prince Hamlet was in Wittenberg, a full month’s journey away for the fastest messenger. He couldn’t hope to return in less than two months, and by then he would have no kingdom to return to; it would be too late.

  Polonius and I discussed this thoroughly and with much pain and care as well as consideration for young Hamlet’s position. Had we some way to acquaint him with the crisis, he would have approved the necessity of instant action to preserve the state. Above all, Denmark must have a sound king, but particularly now.

  The solution, Polonius said, was for me to assume the crown and do so without delay.

  I confess the prospect was not a desirable one; I preferred my lesser position. “Let another be elected from the nobles of the land.”

  “Who?” he asked. “Who of that self-serving lot would you trust? This such-a-one is more ambitious than Fortinbras, that such-a-one too rabbit-like in manner to defend us in need or another is so grand in his vanity that he would bankrupt the whole of the treasury for a single suit of raiment. No, Lord Claudius, none of them have your understanding of what it truly means to rule wisely and well. You stood at your brother’s side through many years and before that witnessed and learned from your father’s long term. Young Hamlet does not possess such experience, and he’s not here to be advised by either of us. Anyone else will bring eventual ruin to Denmark.”

  “But the nobles like me not. They will never elect me to be their lord.”

  “A majority of them will, at a word from me. The rest will fall in with the vote to prevent rivals from rising above their station.”

  “ ’T’would be better were their confidence be wholehearted and freely given, not forced.”

  “There will be no force, only persuasion. Once I set the facts plain before them, they’ll be willing enough to have you stave off the invasion. Your report on what is afoot there—”

  “They’ll say I’m creating a threat from Norway to further myself.”

  “That they cannot do. Think you that yours were the only eyes and ears for Denmark in that court? I know of a dozen nobles with spies in place there, and to a man they will confirm the ill tidings you brought. They all want Fortinbras stopped. If you present them with a plan for that—”

  “I had a recommendation prepared for—for my brother’s approval. . .”

  “Too late now for him to hear it, but in life he heeded your counsel more often than not, and your advice was ever sound—another fact to put before the nobles. Your lordship, you must walk this path for the state to live on preserved from strife, and it must be an immediate starting.”

  I had other objections, but in my heart knew he was right. If we waited two months for Hamlet’s return it would be too late, and Fortinbras would have swept in.

  Thus did Polonius persuade me to my duty.

  But I nearly ran craven from it when he broached the subject of the queen.

  “She is loved by the rabble,” he said. “Win her to your side, and you win their hearts as well.”

  I did not take his full meaning, thinking he meant her support for my cause was all that was needed. “She will prefer her son over me for the throne, which is to be expected. But once she knows the seriousness of this difficulty, she will come around.”

  “Do not count on that, for she has a blind eye when it comes to the lad. However, if played gently and well, she will prefer her husband over her son.”

  This was a day of thick sight for me. “But my brother is gone.”

  “I refer to you, sir. Become her husband.”

  To that I responded with a staring eye, unsure if I heard him aright.

  He pressed on. “The advantage is obvious. The queen remains the queen—which to her is far better than being the queen mother. She retains her honors and respect and position in the court, you have gained her approval and with that the support of the rabble, which counts for much, and young Hamlet is still the heir. Denmark is made secure by keeping the crown within the stability of a long-established royal family, its care in the hands of an honorable and well-schooled lord who will hold and protect it most diligently.”

  A wily old fellow was Polonius, but he seemed to have overstepped himself with this outrageous suggestion. A marriage was quite absurd, though it was sound politics and nothing new to me.

  Many years ago in my youth I’d been betrothed to a number of young ladies. My father’s political maneuverings demanded such matrimonial alliances, and I took none of them seriously. Sometimes the girl died, in others the contract was cancelled as her father in turn arranged a better match. On one occasion negotiations went so far that I was able to meet the girl, which was a bit of an advancement. She seemed a comely quiet sort, but things never progressed beyond that first meeting. The alliance ceased to be of import and the marriage postponed indefinitely. So far as I knew I might still be engaged to her, but had long since forgotten her name.

  Of course I’d availed myself of fleshly pleasures, cheerfully leaving abstinence to those priests who chose to give attention to that vow. I’d had mistresses here and there where my duties carried me, for I found foreign women to be wonderfully captivating. But for good or ill I had never been the sort to lose my heart to any one woman for any length of time. I had no desire to father children, and if I had done so, then their mothers kept the glad tidings to themselves. The expectation of marriage had ceased to be of import to me for whole decades, so Polonius had much work convincing me to even listen.

  But for the sake of the state, I did give ear to his argument, and after much thought concluded that he was right. This would not be the first time a ruler made a bride of the previous king’s wife, but I was uncomfortable that this was my brother’s wife. For most, such an alliance would stink of foul incest. However, Polonius had arguments against that, supported by Holy Scripture no less.

  With a sigh, and an unaccustomed palpitation in my heart inspired by terror, not love-sickness, I gave him leave to speak to Gertrude on the matter. He must make clear the fact that this marriage was strictly for the good of the state, and that I’d never presume to make overtures to her for any other reason. I had too much respect for my brother’s memory for that. She was still in the deepest mourning for him, and on several occasions we sat together in the company of her ladies and grieved together, which had provided much comfort to me. We’d known each other for over thirty years, and I thought of her as a friend, nothing more.

  To Polonius I said I would consent to offer suit to my former sister-in-law only if she was willing, and the arrangement of the marriage bed—or beds in their separate chambers—was entirely up to her. There was no need for us to beget an heir, after all, so a consummation was not necessary.

  Polonius, choosing his moment most carefully, broached the subject with Gertrude. I know not what he said to her, but with his soft persuasion
s and influence he added royal matchmaker to his list of accomplishments.

  What another shock it was to learn that Gertrude desired to be my bride—in the traditional sense.

  Whether she wanted me for myself as a man or as some remnant of her late husband, as her protector or a means to continue as queen, perhaps all and more, I did not inquire. Let it suffice that I spent some hours talking with her with this new aspect included in the conversation and began to see her in a wholly different light. She had happily retained a great portion of her youthful beauty and charm and used it to good effect. Combined with her artless sincerity of warmth toward me I stood no chance and suffered the supreme loss of composure that occurs when a man of middle years falls in love for the first time.

  After that, events set their own course. The nobles supported me to take the crown, which I did, and within a month of leading the procession for my poor brother’s internment I was leading the wedding party in to feast. Though the crowning and especially the marriage were scandalously quick, the results were as Polonius predicted. Fortinbras held back to see what direction I would take. Certainly the quick activity in the Danish court had served him an unexpected turn. I made certain his spies had every chance to observe how busy the shipyards and armorers were—the first orders I issued as king were to give them custom. With no other hint of my intent, Fortinbras was free to draw his own conclusions, and so he hesitated. All to our advantage.

  There was some grumbling in my court about the expense of arming, particularly for a battle that might not happen, but I knew it was cheaper to build for war than to have war itself, and with the building, stave off conflict. By spending a hundred on weapons that might never come to use, I saved the land ten times ten thousand and more in bloody conflict—an excellent bargain.