Shades of Red (22 page)

“I thought the apparition at first to be death — my own death, riding on a black horse, with you clinging on behind. But no — in this dream, death was seeking you, Dara, not I.”

Darrell swallowed. Her mouth felt strangely dry. “It was only a dream, your Majesty,” she said quietly. “Think of it no more.”

“No — no. I must tell you. A strange piece of black helm covered your head and masked your eyes, yet I
knew it was you. You were little more than a baby, perhaps nine or ten years old. The apparition I thought was death turned out to be an angel — a dark angel, but one who would deliver you from the long, dark sleep.”

The sounds of the workers outside seemed to fade into the distance as the doomed queen spoke. Darrell felt herself drawn into Anne's words, images that could have been pulled from the shreds of her own memory.

“When death appeared, all I could see were the impossibly round, yellow eyes as it advanced, unblinking, upon you. I knew you would be swallowed alive and I cried out, but of course, no sound could I make for it was a dream. The strange steed you rode veered to one side, and I could see the knight who rode with you wrestling for control. And — it was as though time stood still.”

Darrell sat as if paralyzed. How could Anne know these things? She felt as though she were drowning in the dark pools of Anne's eyes.

“He bore no weapon against the great monster death, your knight,” Anne continued, speaking as though still deep in the dream. “But in that last instant before it sprang, his strength was greater than that of a thousand men and he needed no weapon. With a single arm he swept you up and hurled you away from the path of the monster.”

Anne dropped her head, her voice muffled. “And then death took him, and I knew it as I awoke.”

Darrell's vision fogged and she struggled to stay conscious. “The accident,” she whispered. “How could you know, your Majesty?”

Darrell looked past the queen and stared blindly out the window at the workers as they readied the block for Anne's dance with death below. And remembered ...

She had awakened in the dark, with something wet running down her face. There was no pain, at first. It was more like a gradual widening of her mind followed by a critical assessment of her body. Her first view was of the sky, the stars reflecting dimly in the water of the Sound.

Sky. Stars. Not rain on her face then. Her neck was stretched back, her head draped downwards. For a moment, the beauty of the night took her breath away, borne on a fragrance of broken pine boughs. Too beautiful to be real — perhaps it was just a dream? She lay without motion, gazing at the inverted night world of wood and water. How much more beautiful it would be the right way around — she should sit up. With her first movement, though, came sure, black knowledge. All was not well. Perhaps there would, in fact, never be beauty again. She couldn't lift her head, so instead struggled to roll onto her side.

The bolt of pain that shot up her leg was singular in its intensity and mercifully brief in duration. She leaned forward and gazed at her leg in disbelief. Her foot lay unresponsive on the asphalt road. And where was her shoe? As she watched, a pool of blood erupted from the cuff of her pant leg, smothering the brown skin. The dark blood puddled and flowed away across the black asphalt, and the jagged bone protruding where her ankle had been was stark in the starlight. Her breath caught in her throat, and she leaned weakly to the other side, supported on her arm, and vomited. This provided no relief from the pain, but it surely meant her dad would come. She never had to be sick alone.

“Daddy?” Her voice wouldn't work — so maybe it was a dream after all. “Dad?”

And in the way of dreams, her dad couldn't hear her, for he was gone. “I'll just wait here, Daddy,” she whispered. “You'll come — it's getting a little foggy, you just need time to find me.”

And waiting for her father, Darrell passed out on the pine bracken that had, moments before, saved her life.

Tears running freely down her face, Darrell turned back to the doomed queen. “I never got to say goodbye to him,” she said, her voice barely audible.

“Perhaps not,” responded the queen, and she placed her hand warmly on Darrell's arm. “But he bade his farewell to you, for as the monster took him, I saw him smile.”

Darrell nodded and sat silent for a long moment. “Thank you,” she said at last, feeling the tears still wet on her cheeks. “Your dream has let me see the truth. I see now that I did not really need to say goodbye to my father. He is always with me — he is in my memories and in my heart.”

“And on your lips — for your smile is as like his as my girl's is like Henry's,” said Anne softly.

Darrell wiped her face on the lace handkerchief that Anne held out to her and smiled wryly. “This is not as it should be. I am here to offer you solace and instead you have done so for me. I so wish that I could be of further help to you, your Majesty.”

Anne smiled at her. “My tears are done — all the screaming and denying is over. My heart is at peace, Dara. And if my dream has brought you comfort, then I am the happier for it.”

Darrell smoothed down her heavy skirts, feeling as though a huge burden had lifted from her heart. What could she do in return? She cleared her throat and watched Anne carefully as she spoke.

“You said earlier that you are no more a witch than I, and I know that to be true. But I also know
you saw us take our leave in Windsor forest. I hope you understand that we are not witches or supernatural — but we are not of this time.”

“I cannot deny that your stange disappearance that day in the forest ensured my reputation as a witch with Lady Margaret, to be sure.”

Darrell twisted the handkerchief in her hands, but as Anne's face showed only calm, she decided to risk a little more.

“Please hold in your heart the knowledge of this truth. Your daughter will prosper and receive her due as heir to her father's throne. Though you have not borne Henry a son, know that your greatest hope will come true. Elizabeth will reign strong and sure. Her legacy will outlast all others of her era and her name will be revered for centuries.”

A trumpet sounded outside and Anne bowed her head. “I know not how you see these things,” she said quietly. “Perhaps your dreams are as vivid as my own. But I thank you, for you have brought my heart peace.” She swept to the window. “And now you must go,” she said, and her voice was no longer that of a frightened woman, but resounded with the will of the Queen of England. “The trumpet sounds to call the court once more into session and I to my fate.”

She leaned in from the window. “I think perhaps you may want to make your way to the chapel once more,
Dara. It is there that my own confessor, Friar Priamos, readies my soul for its journey. It is there, as with all good places, that you shall find your sanctuary.”

The door to the chamber flung open so rapidly that it bounced against the wall. One of the king's men stepped across the threshold and took hold of Anne's arm.

“You are to come with me, witch.”

“There is no need to be rough, good sir. I will do as you say.”

The guard pulled the queen to the door of her chamber. “If you believe me to be a witch,” Anne remarked dryly, “you might take care that I do not think to curse you for your lack of gentleness.”

The guard looked so startled he actually dropped her arm for a moment. She gave a final smile to Darrell. “Stay safe, young woman,” she said. “I will remember you in my prayers.” She turned to the guard. “Let us proceed,” she said, and with a much gentler hand, he guided her out of sight.

Darrell stumbled outside to find Delaney sitting with a companion. Lady Jacqueline turned a tearstained face to the sun.

“We but await the final announcement of her execution date.”

Darrell hoisted her heavy skirts in one arm and reached down to help Jacqueline up from where she had been seated beside Delaney. “Watching this whole thing unfold is sickening. I feel completely helpless.”

“As do I.” Jacqueline tucked one arm into Darrell's. “Do you mind if we walk? I have news that I would share with you,” she said, keeping her voice low.

“That would be wonderful,” said Darrell with a sigh. “I could use some good news right about now.” She stood still a moment. “It doesn't by chance have anything to do with a priest in a scarlet robe?”

Jacqueline looked puzzled. “Perhaps you mean one of the cardinals? No, my news has nothing to do with the church, except most indirectly.” She sighed. “You must be strong, Mistress Dara. The young lad from the stable has just called out that the conspirators in the Tower have been summarily executed. Anne's brother and the three other men were killed at dawn.”

Darrell blanched. “And that is supposed to be
good
news?”

Jacqueline shook her head. “The only good part is that the king showed his mercy at the last. They were sentenced for treason, which can mean they were to be drawn and quartered before being burned at the stake. The poor men were to be hung high by their necks and cut down before death. Following this they were to be disembowelled while still alive and then cut into pieces before burning — the most grievous punishment the law can mete out. But Henry stepped in and commuted their sentences, so instead of the terrible deaths, they were swiftly beheaded.”

Darrell swayed a little and sat down on a hay bale. “I saw Mark Smeaton in the dining hall once,” she whispered. “And now he has had his head cut off?” Her hand rose to her own throat.

“This is not news,” she muttered under her breath. “I knew this was going to happen, I read about it in the library.” She stood with Jacqueline's helping hand. “It
is hard to believe that cutting someone's head off can be considered merciful.”

The door swung open, and a young stable boy careened into the stall. He nodded at Jacqueline. “Lady Jacqueline, ma'am, Lady Rachel is looking for you and the other miss.”

Jacqueline squatted down on the straw-covered floor in front of the boy. “Did she say why, Byron?”

He shook his head and wiped the back of his hand across his face. “No, miss. She was standing with that priest and with milord Norfolk. She smiled at me and sent me to fetch you to the court.”

“Did the priest have a scarlet hood, Byron?” asked Darrell urgently.

The boy nodded.

“The court!” Jacqueline looked at Darrell, the colour draining out of her face. She grabbed the stable boy by the shoulders and shook him a little. “Did Lord Norfolk say anything?” she demanded.

The boy grimaced and tried to wriggle out of her grasp. “I heard but a scrap,” he said. “The lady said you were the queen's women and Lord Norfolk said that your fates should be as hers.” He struggled against Jacqueline's grip. “ Lerroff!” he shouted. “That be all I know!” With a final violent twist he spun out of her grasp and disappeared out the stable door.

“Our fate shall be as hers?” said Darrell slowly.

They looked at each other in dismay. “What shall we do, Dara?” said Jacqueline, her face white to the lips.

“You must leave now,” said Darrell urgently. “We have run out of time if Norfolk has his eye on us. I have read of this man — he will do anything to save his own skin. He's Anne's uncle but also her judge. Norfolk has sent his own nephew to his death, and his niece will likely be next.”

Jacqueline's hands trembled. “My brother told me it might come to this,” she said. She reached out and took Darrell's hands into her own. “Come with me,” she pleaded. “My brother crossed the sea with me many years ago when I came with the queen, and he works as a smith in London. He will find us safe passage back to France.”

“But how can we get out of the Tower without anyone seeing us?” said Darrell.

Jacqueline strode to the door of the stable. “We shall make our way out the way my poor queen arrived — through Traitor's Gate.”

“But that is a gate to the Thames,” whispered Darrell. “How can you make it through the water?”

Jacqueline drew a small velvet bag from within her skirts. “I keep my jewels and a few pieces of gold with me always — they will pay our way,” she said. “The gateman will turn his eye away from me, with enough persuasion.” She shook the small bag, and its contents rattled gently. “My brother's smithy is just across the
Thames. We need only to swim under the wharf — a matter of a few feet. It is near darkness now — we must leave at once. It is our only hope.”

Darrell smiled grimly. “Then you must take it. But I will not come with you.”

“But, Dara, if you do not escape with me, Norfolk will have you to the block with Queen Anne!” She glanced down at Darrell's walking stick. “Do not fear your crippled foot will slow me down, dear lady — I have seen how well you manage. You must take off the wooden peg for the river, of course, but my brother will surely make you a crutch or even a new peg when he hears of our plight.”

Darrell peered out the door of the stable and stilled Jacqueline's outburst with a raised hand. “You must go at once,” she said urgently. “Norfolk has just emerged from the Garden Tower and crosses the Green. You have a workable plan, my lady, but I'm afraid I cannot go with you.”

Jacqueline paled. “But you will surely die with our beloved queen.” She drew herself up. “Perhaps I should do the same. It is only right that I stay in service to my lady to the end, no matter how bitter it may be.”

“Nonsense.” Darrell tried not to let her alarm show. “Think of your brother, Jacqueline, and your family in France. Besides,” she said, smiling a little, “I have no
intention of letting Norfolk separate me from my head. You must trust that I have another way out of the Tower, dear lady. You did not see me enter, remember? I will leave as I arrived and will stay safe, I promise. Now please see to your own safety. Run!”