Perfect Shadows

chapter 12

It was after midnight and the moon rode high in the south when I became aware of a sudden hush, and little unnoticed noises became abruptly conspicuous by their absence. Even the night breeze vanished. I stood slowly, tense and straining for sounds, and the violent crashing in the hedge behind me seemed louder than thunder, causing me to whirl and drop a hand to my sword, only to remember, cursing, that I had left it behind in the crypt. The pistol on the tomb behind me might as well have been in Egypt. I stumbled backward and my cursing turned to laughter as the loups-garous bounded up tome, jumping and pouncing, their tails wagging furiously. I found a seat on the tomb; my knees were threatening to give out. The larger wolf backed off and quickly resolved into Jehan.

“My lord? We should not have . . . we did not mean to startle you,” he said remorsefully. He dropped down to study me.” You look better!” I opened my mouth to explain, but the thudding of hooves and the ring of bridles shut it again. I looked questioningly at Jehan, who nodded and said simply “Prince Geoffrey.”

A few minutes later Geoffrey rode into the churchyard, Nicolas at his side. As the two swung out of the saddles I made a clumsy attempt to rise from my seat, but Geoffrey motioned me down again with a wave.

“You are not so ill as we feared,” he said quietly, bending over me. “You’ve had company, then? Good,” he continued as I nodded. “You will be able to ride. Pillion, behind Nicolas. I had feared that we should have to wait the night and return for you tomorrow with a cart!” His teeth flashed in a quick smile and he reached out a hand to help me to my feet. Jehan appeared then from the crypt with my cloak and sword. Geoffrey took the sword and wrapped the cloak well about me before helping me up behind Nicolas. He seemed to float into his own saddle as Jehan rapidly settled back into his wolf shape to run ahead with the smaller wolf, whom I had recognized as Sylvie.

We arrived back at the manor just before dawn, and I was dimly aware that I was no longer riding pillion behind Nicolas but that Geoffrey’s strong arms held me on his saddlebow. I was caught up in those same arms and carried like a child as Geoffrey slid from his horse. Jehan and Sylvie had arrived before us, by at least long enough to clothe themselves, and met us at the door. “My lord,” my voice sounded faint in my ears, “I can walk.”

“That you cannot,” Geoffrey answered curtly and I submitted to being carried to my chamber. Jehan had a bath prepared, and I sank gratefully into the warm water to soak my makeshift bandages loose. Jehan disappeared with the rest of my clothing, returning a few minutes later behind Geoffrey. The wet bandages came free easily, and Geoffrey praised Jehan for his skill. He bathed the wound and dressed it after Jehan had helped me from the bath then left for his own rest, the day-trance having overtaken me before the bandaging was done.

When I awoke, the room was candlelit, and I was not alone. Sylvie curled her young body around me, holding me close and kissing me softly on the neck and throat. I returned the kisses gently, moving from the hairline behind her ear to the vein beneath. I felt her tense and shiver, not in fear, but with delighted anticipation, then her blood filled my mouth and she moaned her completion into the tangles of my hair. I held her for a time, then watched as she rose to fetch the tray she had thoughtfully provided: red wine and two glasses, strips of nearly raw steak, and a sallet of sorrel and red rose petals. I poured the wine and sipped mine while I dressed. I too had come to prefer the loose trousers that Geoffrey favored, as they allowed much more freedom of motion than the canions and trunkhose I had worn in life, and I scorned the paunchy, stuffed, peascod-bellied doublets then in fashion for slim-cut doublets with a slightly longer skirting. I had noticed that some of the younger gallants were beginning to copy my dress at court, although not in the somber colors I perforce affected there. My shoulder felt much better, but, reckoning that someone would want to look at it, I did not lace up my shirt front, and settled for merely slipping the doublet over my shoulders. I left Sylvie napping in my bed and made my way downstairs.

When I reached the great hall I found Lord Haggard and Lady Alyssa, his wife and Geoffrey’s mother-in-blood, watching Geoffrey and Nicolas engage in a practice duel. I was fascinated to watch Geoffrey backed step by step into defeat, to end with Nicolas’s bright blade at his throat. They stood frozen in the pose for a moment, and then Nicolas turned and bowed to the applause that broke out from several widely spaced areas of the hall. Geoffrey grimaced and Nicolas strolled over to me. “It does you good, I think, to see me get the better of Geoffrey, yes?” I nodded, smiling wryly. “Well, come into the light and we will see to that wound—”He broke off and turned his head to listen to the unfamiliar voice at the end of the hall. Unfamiliar to him, but I recognized it instantly: Ralegh. Leaving Nicolas without a word, I walked swiftly to him.

“ . . . I thank you, but I have taken accommodations in the village. I do apologize for presuming on our acquaintance and bursting in, but there are circumstances,” the broad Devon voice trailed off as Ralegh caught sight of me. “I must have some speech with you, your grace, if you will permit me. Privily,” he added as I looked to Geoffrey, who stepped forward, motioning towards a room off the hall.

“There’s a goodly fire in the library,” he said. Ralegh’s eyes flicked from Geoffrey’s face to Nicolas’s, but he said nothing as he followed them into the cozy room and took the offered chair. They waited until I seated myself at Ralegh’s side, then vanished back into the shadows of the hall. Ralegh took tobacco and two pipes from his doublet, filled them, and handed one to me. I took it warily. He caught up the small tongs hanging by the hearth, using them to light the pipes with a coal from the fire, then sighed and gazed at me for a few seconds before he spoke.

“Well, Kit, glad I am to see that you still smoke in private, at least.” I recoiled as though I had been stung, breaking the fragile clay pipe to bits. I tossed the fragments into the fire and brushed the bits of smoldering tobacco from my clothing before turning my gaze on the older man. “It is you, is it not, Kit? I do not know how you come to be alive when all reports had you dead and buried, and I care not, but I am glad of it! Though I was surprised to see you at court. No, I’ve told no one, and shall not.”

“Are these the circumstances of which you spoke,” I asked, happy to hear that my voice remained quiet and steady even though I found myself considerably agitated.

“Would it were,” Ralegh answered. “No, ’tis about the man you shot that I have come. He was a distant, though fond relation of the Earl of Essex, and it is lucky that our jolly Robin is sulking in the country just now. Some of the gallants that have attached themselves to Essex are out for your blood.”

“I find that less than fearsome,” I snorted, and Ralegh’s lancet gaze flicked to my shoulder and back to the fire. “And so I must conclude that there is more you wish to tell me.”

“Indeed there is. What have you done to drive your little lamb Walsingham into Northumberland’s fold?” I started again, though I hoped less obviously, and waited for the other man to elaborate. “He came to me the night of the shooting, and Harry was there. The fool has no discretion at all, and started babbling some nursery tale about men returning from the grave, and I’m afraid, Kit, that before I could bundle him out of the room he cried out that the prince we knew as Kryštof was none but Marlow returned from the grave to revenge himself for the murder done him; he has the idea that the bullet you fired was meant for him, you see. I stilled his tongue, but I fear that the damage had been done.” He drew his fingers across the bruised knuckles of his right hand reflectively. “Harry’s no fool, and though he seemingly accepted the story I spun to excuse Walsingham’s behavior, I can put no trust in it. Walk softly Kit, and watch behind you. Walsingham’s been close closeted with Northumberland these two days past, and I hear rumors that Essex may not mump as long in the country as some of us would care to have him.” Ralegh smoked in silence as I contemplated his news, and the bright blue eyes never left me as I went to the side table to pour a glass of wine.

“Is that how you recognized me, then,” I spoke softly, my thoughts in turmoil. The time for denying Ralegh’s perception was certainly past; I had wit enough left to see that, at least.

“I have been watching you at court, where I find it behooves me to mark all my younger rivals,” Sir Walter answered, awry smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “I often thought I had remembered some apt turn of phrase, or felicitous cadence in your speech, but it was not until two nights past that I identified you by the scar on your hand. Even then I put but scant faith in what my eyes told me, until Walsingham’s outburst. And even now, I find that I harbor some doubt.” He looked at his pipe and carefully knocked the ash out of it before continuing. “Am I correct in assuming your survival has nothing to do with our studies?”

“No, nor yet with my—how did Baines put it? My atheism, my blasphemies, or my monstrous opinions, Wat,” I reassured him. His eyebrow raised at the fond name as I continued. “It had more to do with a misplaced, and later regretted, act of compassion—toward me, not by me. Sowing good intentions reaps but a deadly harvest, or so it often seems.” Sir Walter did not meet my eye.

“You are very much changed, Kit,” he finally said, his voice soft with sorrow and distress. And pity, too, the most pernicious of all.

“I would have expected you to be off to your beloved Americas,” I said lightly, changing the subject.

“Aye, and so I would be, save that her majesty ordered me not to leave her,” Sir Walter said. “Her majesty cannot do without her lap dog, some say. Lap dog!” he repeated fiercely, and I laughed.

“So they call me, as well, and any that she favors,” I told him. “And if you’ll notice, Wat, the very ones who say it loudest would be the first to leap up if the lap were but offered them!” He laughed at that, and we fell into silence, contemplating the fire. I brooded over Walsingham, and the Earl of Northumberland. Percy had helped me in the past, but we had fallen out long before. He was not a passionate man, but cold and vengeful, and one who would wait years if need be to exact that revenge—“I must speak to Geoffrey,” I said abruptly, pushing myself out of the chair and through the door, returning a few minutes later with Geoffrey in tow. Ralegh quickly recapped what he had told me earlier, and waited patiently while we contemplated the problem. Geoffrey was the first to speak.

“And was it only this warning that brought you here tonight?”

“Not entirely, your grace. Her majesty bade me come and assess the extent of her Shadow’s injuries, and to hear from his lips what befell him on the road from Nonsuch. What answer must I make, do you think?”

“And if I should say that I rode home by a different way and know nothing of these things?” I inquired, a smile tugging at my lips. Ralegh shook his head regretfully.

“Much as I should like to see the reactions to that, I fear that hound won’t hunt, Kit. Too many saw you go in that direction, and too many are prepared to swear it.”

“Then say to her that I was beset on the road by what I took to be thieves and brigands, who made no answer when I asked their business, thus forcing me to fire upon them in effecting my escape. Tell her Majesty that I took no serious hurt, and, with her permission, will wait upon her two nights hence,” I replied, and Ralegh nodded thoughtfully then took his leave, saying that he would return the following evening, having some business to attend during the day.

“Well, Kit,” Geoffrey said quietly.

“I bade Tom not to speak, and bound him with a compulsion. I can only suppose,” I added wryly, “that the blast of the gun, the smell of the powder, and not least the fear for his life has whelmed my suggestions. I shall take care, and I shall visit him again some night, and renew the bonds he has broken.”

“That, I think, would be most unwise until we see what his grace of Northumberland purposes to do with his information. But what of Ralegh?”

“Sir Walter is a man of both honor and discretion, and fosters a healthy concern for both his dignity and his neck. He will not, I think, risk either by supporting, or even seeming to heed, Tom’s ravings. I was a part of his so-called School of Night, you know, and we often spoke alone together until dawn, after the others left. He will not betray me, I’d lay my life.”

“As indeed you do,” Geoffrey retorted. “And ours.”



The next night, true to his word, Ralegh returned. The Queen had sent a gift of game and her joy in Ralegh’s tidings. She looked forward to seeing her Shadow the following afternoon, for she would attend the inquest upon the death of William Baskerville. After this brief unpleasantness, it would give her great joy if Prince Geoffrey and Prince Kryštof would attend the masque being held in honor of the Queen’s birthday and the dancing that would follow. Though worded as an invitation it was certainly a command.

“I cannot attend in the afternoon,” I said, wondering how much I should tell Ralegh about my limitations.

“I will appear in your place, Christopher,” Geoffrey said, “As is my right as your liege-lord. There will be no trouble, I think, if I place a bond against your later appearance, if required.”



I lazed back on the pillows, indifferent to the glares aimed at me, toying with the heavy strand of pearls I wore. The Queen idly stroked my hair, giving it a sharp tug now and then when I made some particularly derisive, albeit apt, criticism of the masque. Geoffrey sat beside her in a chair, giving a more erudite and far less corrosive commentary.

I had arrived with the dusk, just as the inquest brought in its verdict of death by misadventure. I joined Geoffrey, and we were immediately conducted to a private audience, where her majesty questioned us both sharply, ending with a query that had puzzled her for some time. She wanted to know how it was that a man unable to even read could hold his own in a country over-devoted to print, and thus learned both that the disability was caused by my injury, and that Geoffrey had nothing to do with it.

“Other than seeing to it that I was better able to defend myself another time,” I added, smiling, and we adjourned to watch the play.

“You shall sit beside me, Cousin,” she had said to Geoffrey and indicated a chair so close to hers that it was half under the cloth of state.

“And where shall I sit?” I bantered.

“Why where else would a good shadow be, but at his mistress’ feet,” she replied, matching me tone for tone and motioning to the cushions waiting there. I slung myself down with easy grace and smiled up at her. “No,” she said, consideringly, “I find thou art too dark, cousin, and would lighten thy aspect somewhat, as the moon doth kindle a dark night.” She beckoned to one of her ladies who stepped forward and removed a strand pearls from the royal gown. It was obvious to the entire court from the easy way it was dislodged; the necklace had been donned with just such a removal in mind. With a swift birdlike movement she dropped the jewels over my head, and scowled at the faces surrounding her, as if daring them to react. The masque began then, providing a welcome distraction.

Cecil had watched this by-play sourly. He had frequently expressed his opinion, within my hearing, though prudently not within the Queen’s, that her habitual playing at dalliance with men a third her age reflected absurdly upon the dignity of the Crown. He was close by, and watching us rather than the masque, most intently. I had seen such attention before, anywhere a cat waited by a mouse hole. My own gaze narrowed, and I sat up to look at him more closely, but just then his groom touched his sleeve, whispering that the awaited messengers had arrived. He stood and slipped from the crowded room, only to return a few minutes later, a complacent smile on his lips while he composed himself to await the end of the masque. When it ended and the courtly compliments had been paid, he made his way to the Queen, bowing low.

“I have just received some information I think will interest your Majesty,” he purred, bending over her hand. She snatched it away.

“Not now, my lord,” she snapped.

“Robert—” his father, Lord Burghley, started, and broke off at a gesture from the Queen.

“I humbly entreat your pardon, Majesty, but I think you must hear. The information is from Sybria.” Geoffrey turned a steely gaze on him.

“Perhaps we both should hear,” he said quietly as I scrambled to my feet.

“Speak, then,” Elizabeth said waspishly.

“I would prefer to speak privately,” he began, then shrugged his crooked shoulders and continued. “The ruling Prince of Sybria, Mihai Viteazul,” he stumbled a bit on the unfamiliar syllables, “sends his greetings to your gracious Majesty, and knows nothing of any Princes Geofri and Kryštof.” He paused to allow the implications of this to sink in, then continued. “The Holy Roman Emperor, Rudolf, claims a cousin Geofri, who calls himself a prince—” he broke off with a gasp at the Queen’s baleful glare.

“Majesty, may I speak plainly,” Geoffrey asked smoothly.

“I so command you,” she replied shortly.

“Some years ago, when your misguided sister held this throne, you were at divers times importuned to leave this kingdom. You, being the wiser, did not, and thus you gained your throne, to grace it these bountiful years. But if you had gone abroad, would you have been any less the prince for that? And whoever sat here in your absence, would you have considered yourself anything less than the true prince? I think not, and I think you know something of the pain of exile.” The Queen listened solemnly to Geoffrey’s apologia, nodding to herself. When he finished, she took his hand in hers, and motioned both Burghley and his erring son closer. Robert swallowed convulsively and obeyed, followed closely by his father.

“Little man, do you study music?” she asked, with seeming irrelevance, but fixing him with a glittering eye, and Burghley winced, looking as if he wondered what had possessed his son. Robert nodded and she continued icily.” Then you must look to your timing, my lord. It lacks . . . delicacy. See you to it, my lord,” she added turning to Burghley.

“Come, Robert, I’ll see you home,” said the old man, slipping an arm over his son’s shoulder, and they left, Robert Cecil looking over his shoulder now and then, as if to sort out what had gone wrong, and narrowing his eyes at the sight of us, still close by the queen’s side.

“You have made a bad enemy there, your grace,” a quiet voice said behind me, and I jumped at the hand laid on my shoulder. I stepped away and turned to face the man who watched me from hooded reptilian eyes. He had sandy hair, with brows and lashes almost invisible against his sallow skin, a tall, thin build and a scholar’s slightly stooping shoulders. With another ill-concealed start I recognized him: Henry Percy, the Earl of Northumberland.

“Any enmity is of his own making,” I said, hiding my agitation under a blanket of indifference. “I am certain that we may think no ill of a man who acts in defense of his sovereign, however mistakenly. If you will excuse me, my lord?”

“If you would indulge me but a moment more,” the earl said, catching at my sleeve, “there is something I am most curious about. How is it that you speak our tongue with such facility? I would almost take you for a Kentishman, your .. . grace.” I pulled out of his grasp.

“You flatter me,” I said, and added over my shoulder as I walked away, “I had an English nurse.” I could feel those cold eyes boring into my back as I went to join the dancing.