Perfect Shadows

chapter 30

I watched wordlessly as Eden washed and dressed Richard’s corpse, her tears falling silently onto the fresh linen. She would allow no one to help her in this, not even Sylvana. The boy had drawn his last breath a few moments since, in my arms. He had felt his approaching death, and his eyes had betrayed his fear. He clung to me gratefully when I had reached out to him, then eased into an unconsciousness that had lasted less than a quarter of an hour before his breath sighed out and the tension in his muscles relaxed. He looked peacefully asleep when Eden had finished laying him out, the lines of his agony smoothed away. Only the dark smudges below his eyes and the clean bandages on his hands suggested that he had suffered. The shutters had been closed and curtained against the light, and candles burned. His sister would watch throughout the days, and I the nights until Richard arose, if arise he would. Eden collapsed into the cushioned chair that I had had placed beside the bed, her tears spilling through her fingers and her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I leaned over her, and kissed her hair as the approaching dawn drove me to seek my rest. I heard Rózsa in the next room as the trance claimed me. Word was waiting for me when I woke the next evening: Essex had fought his rebellion, and lost.

The earls, I learned, had been given ten days to prepare their defense, although they were not allowed to communicate with each other. Cecil had visited them, and displayed an aversion to the use of torture to gain the needed answers that confused his fellow members of the council. Watching the still form in the candle-lit chamber, I felt a bitter smile twist my lips at that news, reflecting that at least Richard’s tortuous death had bought that much; Hal would be spared what Richard had suffered.

The false dawn colored the horizon late on the third night of our vigil, and no hint of life showed in the corpse as Eden watched in despair. I leaned forward, alerted by some sense that I could not describe, and took the frantic woman’s hand, turning her attention to the boy’s pale face. He gave a twitch, as one who dreams of falling, and the eyelids fluttered open. With a glad cry she kissed him, then rushed from the room, returning a few minutes later with a clean kitchen knife. Her hands were shaking too badly to open her vein and feed her brother, and I took that office, cutting swiftly and holding the wound to the boy’s mouth, speaking quietly all the while, much as one would to any invalid awaking from a long and serious illness. Richard did not speak, but eagerly drank the blood that his sister supplied him, and collapsed into a heavy trance before the rising sun cleared the skyline. I bandaged Eden’s wound, which was already beginning to close, and fell into my own trance there in the bedside chair.

When I woke I was in my own chamber, my bath steaming before the fire, but the sounds of voices drew me to the outer room. I drew on a heavy dressing gown and pushed the door open. Rhys, with Eden behind him, waited on one side of Richard’s bed, and Sylvana sat on the other, stroking the boy’s forehead and muttering low in her throat in no language that I knew. She smiled and nodded over at him, but never paused in her invocation.

When she had done she leaned down and kissed the sleeper’s eyelids and lips, gathering his damaged hands into her own strong and work-hardened ones. “Richard, Richard,” she called to him and he woke, confused but unafraid. Sylvana began to remove the bandages from his hands, and the improvement was striking. The bruising was reduced to a faint greenish stain under the skin, and the places where the bones had broken through the skin were healed over. The scarring was considerable, but should fade with time. She moved to his feet and removed those bandages with similar results, then turned him to examine his back. The skin was renewing there as well, but still looked tender and inflamed. He winced as she smoothed a white salve over the wounds and dressed them in clean linen before pulling an old and worn shirt over his head. Richard gave a little sigh of relief as the anesthetic salve eased the burning itch. He smiled tentatively at me, and I crossed to the bed, taking the seat that Sylvana had vacated. She gathered up her gear and left the room, signaling the others to follow. Rhys kissed his brother’s forehead, and smiled, then fled without speaking. I waited, then took one of Richard’s hands gently in mine.

“Well, Richard,” I began, at a loss for what to say next. There was a light scratching at the door, and Rózsa slipped in. She was dressed soberly in green wool so dark it looked black in the candlelight, doublet and venetians, and a plain white linen band. She spoke over her shoulder and Sylvana followed her back into the room.

“Welcome to our family, Richard,” Rózsa said, and slipped a ring bearing the amethyst intaglio onto his finger then bent and kissed him on the lips. “Now, it is time for you to feed, to speed your healing, and enter upon your new life. Sylvana will stay with you, and we will leave you alone for now. Kryštof and I have much to discuss,” she added, drawing me back into my room. As I closed the door I saw Sylvana shyly sit beside Richard on the bed, smiling at him.

“Do you think that Sylvana is the best choice? He is yet inclined to fear women, after all,” I inquired, to cover the unexpected surge of jealousy I felt.

“Yes, since he knows her, and she is comforting to him. This is going to be difficult for him, Kit. It is not so much now that he fears women as that he fears the carnal act itself. I do not know how that conflict will resolve itself finally. We are such sensual creatures, after all,” she added, not looking at me. She wandered over to my bath and dipped her fingers in the water. “Your bath is getting cold,” she said.

“Rózsa, are you trying to tell me something?” I asked as I dropped my robe to the floor and stepped into the tub. The water was cooler than I liked it, but still hot enough if I hurried. Rózsa watched me with appreciation for a moment, then abruptly told me of her adventure with Libby. I sat dumbfounded for a time, then laughed. “Well, why I should be surprised? She is a beguiling little thing, after all. Have you seen her again?”

“Yes, every night. She is desperate over Hal’s arrest, terrified that he will be executed, and she wants to see you, Kit. I will stay with Richard tonight, if you wish. I confess that I have fed from her, though but very little,” she smiled at the memory.

I rose from the tub and took the towel she handed me, thinking about it while I dried and dressed myself, and decided to go. We crossed back through the chamber where Richard rested quietly, his head on Sylvana’s shoulder. She opened her eyes and laid a finger to her lips, nodding slightly, to let us know that all was well. Rózsa settled into the bedside chair, and I closed the door behind me. Richard would do little these first days but feed and sleep, and since he had both been aware of the exchange and had no injury to his brain, there had been no need to bind him. Given the extent of his other injuries, it would have been nearly impossible anyway.

I found both Drury House and Essex House, not far away, in a state of confusion. I was shown into Libby’s parlor by a sullen and frightened servant, and left to wait. The woman who entered a few minutes later, however, was not Libby.

Lady Rich was dressed in the height of fashion. The closed partlet, proper for a married woman, was so sheer that it exposed her breasts, the long pointed stomacher pressed into the flounces covering the wide drum-farthingale, from which the rich brocade of her skirts hung to within a few inches of the floor, showing off her ankles in their embroidered silk stockings and her small feet in their spangled slippers. Her coloring was darker than Libby’s, her hair a rich dark auburn and threaded with large pearls, and her face was made up in the pink and white mask that was in vogue, her painted mouth like a crimson wound. I found myself carefully guarding my expression, to conceal both the start of recognition and the revulsion her appearance induced in me. “My lady?”

“I am sorry, your Highness, but Lady Southampton is indisposed, and cannot see you. I shall give her your greetings and regrets, of course.” Her eyes glittered like a cat’s against the kohl that outlined them, and she appeared to examine her shining nails, while watching me through her eyelashes. I stood for a second looking at her impassively, then I was at her side, attempting to pass by her, through the door at her back to find Libby, and to learn for myself what state she was in. Lady Rich shoved me away with surprising strength, and I caught her wrist, holding it in a grip that would not loosen, twist as she might. “You dare not lay hands on me!” she shouted, her voice shrill.

“But you see that I do,” I said calmly. “Your star is fallen, Lady Rich, and you and your family shall need all the friends that you can find.”

“You were never Robin’s friend!” she spat, and I let her go, but placed myself between her and the door.

“That is true, but none of my shaping, my lady. I have done nothing to cause any hurt to your brother, though he could not say the same of me and mine! But this has nothing to do with my purpose here. I have long been a friend to Hal, and it is for care of him that I am here.” I wondered suddenly if Libby had told her friend of her intimacy with me, and gave an inward sigh of regret when the woman’s next words indicated that she had.

“Ah, but a far better friend to his wife! And if he should hear of that? What price friendship then? Oh, I know precisely what sort of friendship you shared with Hal, and it could bring great trouble to you both if it became well known, yes? And don’t think that I won’t use what I know if you thwart me, your highness.” Lady Rich smiled and moved closer towards me, smoothing the crumpled ruff at her wrist. “There is no reason that we shouldn’t befriends. You see,” she purred, “I’ve not called the grooms, even though you have mauled me most unmercifully.”

“What is it you wish of me, my lady?” I asked tonelessly, standing perfectly still as she flowed up against me.

“Only what you have given so freely to others! Libby told such tales of you that I thought to sample your marvels for myself. Kiss me!” She was Lettice Knollys’ true daughter, with her mother’s sensual nature as well as her lack of morals, both in full measure. She turned her face up to mine, her painted mouth redder than blood on snow, and closed her eyes. I wondered idly what Sir Philip Sidney would think of his Stella, had he lived to see her now, as I caught both of her hands in one of mine, crushing her against the paneling. I lowered my lips to her throat, piercing the blue vein throbbing there and tasting of her, pulling her blood into my mouth and letting my pleasure spill into her for only a few seconds before pushing away from her. She stared up at me, her eyes languid, a moan of protest welling in her throat as she tried to move back closer. I caught her chin in my hand and forced her to look into my face, pinning her with my gaze. I murmured to her and her eyes glazed as she nodded to my words, then I pushed her against the paneling again, lowering her gently to the floor as her knees gave away. I knelt beside her, and slapped her smartly on the cheek, and she snapped awake, glaring about her in confusion. “What do you mean, slapping me!”

“Forgive me, my lady, but your emotions overcame you, and you fainted. I meant only to bring you out of your swoon.”

“Call the footman, or someone, you barbarian!” she snapped, holding a hand to her insulted cheek.

“An it please you, my lady,” I answered indifferently, but with inward satisfaction, as she was unmistakably acting upon my suggestion that she found me unappealing.

“Wait, I pray you, your Highness. You must forgive my ill temper; I am half distracted with fear for my brother. I do not even remember the subject on which we spoke.”

“Your brother, my lady,” I began but was interrupted by the door slamming back as Libby tripped into the room.

“Are you in here, Penny? Oh, there you are—Kryštof! What are you doing here? Did he try to ravish you, Penny? I should advise you let him!” As I helped Lady Rich to her feet, Libby collapsed giggling on the settle, and I realized that she was drunk. “I am glad that you are here! I have been longing to see you. Stay with me tonight: I am so afraid of being alone,” and she burst into tears. Penelope sat beside her, drawing her into her arms and letting her cry, completing the ruin of the open ruff she wore. I dropped to one knee before them, taking one of Libby’s hands and holding it until she looked at me.

“You are not alone, Elizabeth. You have an older friend here than I, and I cannot stay. I will see the Queen, and try to persuade her to be lenient with him, but do not hope too much.” Libby nodded and tears still dropped to her gown as I leant forward and softly kissed her brow. “And you, my lady, I fear should not hope at all, though I do promise you that I shall do nothing to your brother’s hurt.” Lady Rich turned her dark eyes on me; she made no reply but looked at me thoughtfully as I rose and left the room.

It was too late to go to the Queen that night and I returned to Chelsey, and sat until dawn in Richard’s room, watching the boy’s sleep deepen into the day trance before seeking my own rest.



The Queen was at Whitehall, and granted me an audience when I sent her the talismanic ring. She was in a foul temper, and glared from the mask of paint she wore like a stage Medusa as I knelt before her to plead for my friend. Her mouth, set in a grim line, turned down as she listened.

“Think you that I will slay the eaglet and spare that viper? I know full well where the plotting took place, my lord, as do you!” She smacked her fist into the palm of the other hand, cursing as a sharp ring bezel cut her finger. Gently I took her hand, turning it to examine the wound, and brought it to my lips. I kissed her fingers, letting the coagulants in my spittle staunch the bleeding before she could call for a servant and declare my audience at an end. Her other hand dropped to my hair, seemingly without her volition, and she stroked the soft locks, letting them run through her fingers.

“Where were you, or another such prince, when I was young and had need to marry?” she mused, and I lifted my maimed face to hers.

“There were princes a-plenty, your Majesty, but you had another Robin then, and a truer one,” I said quietly. I recalled the sight of her in Canterbury in my youth, riding in procession, and realized that the vision of the divine Zenocrate in my Tamburlaine had had its birth there, with the beautiful and regal young woman on the white horse, the glitter of her robes less rich than the red-gold hair spilling down her back and floating on the warm Kentish breeze.

“The Earl of Southampton has not the wit to lay such a plot, your Majesty. He is young and a fool, but if you will kill all the fools in England it will be a lonely land indeed.” She stared at me for a second, when a sound behind me drew her eyes away. I rose and turned to face Cecil, who had entered in time to catch my words. He looked careworn and faded, lines beginning to set around his mouth and eyes. Of all the council he was the only one willing to pursue the necessary course in this affair, although he too knew the risk that in her grief the queen would blame him for the death of her erstwhile favorite, and retaliate.

“He is quite correct, your Majesty, and I come to add my voice to his plea for leniency to Southampton. The Earl of Essex is a man sly and vain, shallow and treacherous, yet stalwart and high-spirited withal,” he added quickly at the flash of her eyes. He swallowed, then continued. “If you let him live, even in prison, it will be seen as a sign of your dotage, and no one will be able to drive back the vultures and kites that will descend upon England then. There will be nothing left but dry bones stripped clean of the last scrap of flesh. By letting the minion live, in prison, certainly, and for the rest of his life, you may show your charity and forgiveness at no risk to your crown. This disaffection and rebellion, fomented in the private discontent of a few, is not like the Hydra, to grow a new head when one is lopped off.” Elizabeth glared at the minister for a minute or two, then turned to me once more.

“If the Earl of Southampton will so humble himself as to publicly confess his wrongdoing, admit his unworthiness, and beg my mercy and forgiveness, he will not go to the block. But he will spend the rest of his life in the Tower, and much joy may it bring him.” She turned on her heel and stalked away, stiff as a Nuremberg mechanical doll. Cecil shot a glance in my direction before following her. I watched her go, with Cecil a misshapen shadow at her side, then made my way through the passages and galleries of Whitehall to the stables. It was only later, on my way to the Tower, that I realized that I had had the blood of a queen on my tongue without even tasting it. And that this time she had not returned the ring.