Witchrise (16 page)

It was John Dee, the Queen’s astrologer and a secret long-time supporter of her sister Elizabeth.

‘I shall take more wine too, if I may,’ Master Dee was saying meekly, raising his own goblet to have it refilled. ‘It is not bad, as Spanish wines go. But I do prefer a red Burgundy. So much smoother on the palate.’

The churchman looked at him sharply. ‘It is unlikely we will enjoy much Burgundy at our tables this year, Master Dee. Not while His Majesty is waging war against the French. Unless your
charts
,’ and here he paused, an edge of contempt in his voice, ‘have revealed to you the outcome of this conflict? If so, you should share such information with the Queen at once.’

‘No, indeed, my lord,’ Dee replied uneasily, and I guessed that the man at the head of the table must be his master, the dreaded Bishop Bonner.

I studied the bishop closely, feeling sick. One of the most feared men in England, he had recently committed the elderly Thomas Cranmer, once the Archbishop of Canterbury, to the bonfire in nearby Oxford. Having watched my own aunt die in the same way, I knew such cruelty could never be justified. Yet here he was, mopping up his gravy with a hunk of manchet bread, more intent on his dinner than on burning as many of his fellow men as he could.

‘This man,’ Robert Dudley announced with a determined laugh, ‘would have us think him an expert in wines. But indeed when I was a boy, and he was my tutor, I swear he barely touched a drop. Still a young man himself, he would drink nothing but the weakest ale or mead.’

My mouth fell agape.

John Dee had been tutor to the young Robert Dudley?

I stared, bemused, at the astrologer; his eyes were shadowed with recent pain, yet his face still looked as handsome and unearthly as when we had first met, his hair long enough to fall down his back like a woman’s.

I knew John Dee to be as learned as any university tutor, and wise too in the occult arts, a conjuror of dangerous spirits, a great magician, and a bold astrologer who had come near to losing his life over the royal charts he had dared to draw up. I simply could not imagine such a man as a humble tutor, even to rich and noble youths such as the Dudleys must have been before their family’s disgrace.

What on earth had Dee taught Robert as a boy?

Instantly I imagined a dark room of zodiac charts, star maps, large bottles of pickled newts, with forbidden books and heretical texts strewn open amid a mass of black candles . . . I shook the foolish vision away. He would have taught the Dudley boys Latin and Greek, some French and Italian too, mathematics and history, shown them a map of the globe, discussed politics, philosophy and the economics of nations. The same things Elizabeth had been taught as a girl, and which she often discussed with Alejandro.

‘And he was right to do so.’ Amy Dudley managed a smile for the bishop, but I thought she looked strained and unhappy. ‘Better a sober tutor than a drunken one. Is that not so?’

‘Indeed, indeed,’ the bishop muttered, and pushed the sopping bread into his mouth.

Dee managed a thin smile. ‘I often drank as a student at Oxford. I have not always been so . . . restrained.’

‘Oxford.’ Bishop Bonner looked directly at him, his heavy brows frowning. ‘Don’t mention the accursed place. I have seen enough of Oxford these past few months to last me a lifetime. Back and forth from London on Cranmer’s case. First old Archbishop Cranmer refuses to acknowledge the Queen’s authority over the Church, then he rejects the Mass itself. Next thing, when he sees his old friends roasting in the street for their stubbornness, he tries to recant and turn Catholic again.’ He shook his head, glancing at Mistress Dudley when she made a rough noise under her breath. ‘Forgive me. You have heard all this nonsense, no doubt?’

Her cheeks suddenly white as snow, Amy Dudley gave the bishop the tiniest nod. ‘Something . . .’ she whispered.

‘Well, Her Majesty could see the truth of the matter and she would have none of it. I mean, the law states that if a man recants, he should not burn. We all know that. But a lie uttered in fear is never a true recanting. Besides, old Cranmer had it coming, and I for one do not mourn his death.’ Bonner drank deep from his goblet, then belched loudly. ‘Nor the manner of it. He will face hotter flames in Hell, will he not?’

The room fell silent, but the bishop did not seem to notice, clicking his jewelled fingers for the servant to fill his cup again.

Robert Dudley turned to his former tutor, clearing his throat. ‘I am glad to have a chance to talk with you again, sir. It was kind of Bishop Bonner to extend an invitation for us to dine here tonight.’

‘His lordship is a very generous man,’ John Dee agreed, smiling awkwardly at the bishop.

‘Tell me, what news of the Queen? You must have been at court more frequently than I these past few months, for I fear Her Majesty has not forgotten my family’s wrongful support of the rebellion.’

The court astrologer steepled his fingers together under his chin, regarding his former pupil. ‘Her Majesty has been unwell in recent months. She suffered much under the influence of Saturn last year. But Venus is on the rise. Her health will soon be restored.’

Dudley’s smile looked forced. ‘That is excellent news and I rejoice in it.’ He raised his goblet. ‘Long live Her Majesty Queen Mary!’

His wife drank too, nervously. ‘Long live Her Majesty!’

Someone knocked at the door, then entered swiftly. A man came to the table and presented a note to the bishop on a silver platter. Bonner wiped his mouth and fingers on his napkin, then unrolled the message, frowning as he read it.

‘Nothing wrong, I trust?’ Dee asked solicitously.

The bishop grunted, pushing back his chair. ‘A letter that requires my personal seal. Another of these cowardly heretics who believes he can avoid the fire by swearing he has changed his mind at the eleventh hour. But he will burn tomorrow if his recantation is a false one.’ His smile made me feel sick. ‘And I can always tell the false ones. They are the men and women who make the most noise when they first see their burning-place.’ He threw down his napkin and strode to the door. ‘Enjoy your syllabub when it arrives. I must compose a reply to the prison warden. I shall soon return.’

The heavy-set bishop walked straight through me, and I shuddered, even after such a ghostly contact. Then I noticed how the others waited with downcast faces until the bishop had gone, their silence conspicuous.

John Dee clicked his fingers to the one servant still remaining. ‘Go see if his lordship still has a cask of that good Kentish ale in his cellars, would you? I have a thirst tonight this Spanish wine will not quench.’

Once they were alone, Dee leaned swiftly across the table. ‘We may talk freely for a few moments, until Bonner returns. Only keep your voice down, Robbie. You never know who may be secretly listening.’

Indeed not, I thought drily.

‘A strange reunion, this,’ Robert Dudley said wryly. ‘At dinner with a man who would condemn us all to the bonfire if he could read our hearts. But seriously now, what news of the Queen’s health? Is she indeed recovered?’

‘I fear so, yes. The Queen is often confined to bed these days, but we cannot hope for her death just yet.’ Master Dee shrugged. ‘Still, Mary has long suspected the Lady Elizabeth of having put a curse on her. Her return to health should quash that rumour, at least.’

Robert grinned. ‘If any woman could curse her own sister and make it stick, it would be Elizabeth.’

‘Then perhaps you are not so well acquainted with the Lady Elizabeth as you suggested in your last letter. I have always found her a most regal and even-tempered lady.’

‘Or perhaps I am better acquainted with her than you.’ Robert glanced at his wife, then sat back in his chair, looking at Dee through narrowed eyes. ‘But enough of that. In truth, what do your charts say of the succession? Will the Spanish king succeed in getting himself an heir?’

‘The charts suggest there will be no further pregnancies. Unless Queen Mary should die, and Elizabeth take her place as his wife.’

Robert’s teeth were bared. ‘That will never happen. I would kill the Spanish king before he could force her into marriage.’

‘A trifle drastic,’ Dee commented without heat, and sipped at his wine.

‘Tell me, Master Dee, how are you finding the daily arrests and burnings?’ Robert asked tightly. ‘I must admit to some surprise on hearing of your new post with Bonner. You make an unlikely sniffer-out of heretics.’

‘I agree. Yet what else could I do? Ignore the bishop’s offer of employment and face death myself?’ He shrugged, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. ‘In a cruel climate, one must bend or be broken.

‘But you must have learned that lesson yourself, Robert,’ Dee continued more softly, ‘for you spent long enough in the Tower after your family’s rebellion. Your father executed, your poor brother Guildford too. Yet here you sit, with your head still on your shoulders.’

Robert said nothing, watching him intently.

‘I am not happy with the work Bishop Bonner gives me. But at least this way I may survive to serve the Lady Elizabeth when her time comes to ascend the throne.’ Master Dee crossed himself delicately. ‘Until then, may Heaven forgive my sins, past, present and future.’

‘Amen.’ Robert glanced briefly at the door, then lowered his voice. ‘Have you heard from the princess? You keep a boy in her household, I believe. Your apprentice?’

‘Yes, Richard is loyal to me and sends me word of the Lady Elizabeth from time to time. And of her maid, Meg Lytton, who has some minor power in the dark arts.’

I glared at him, unseen.
Some minor power?

But in my irritation I had missed something. Some brief look and whisper had passed between the other two at the table. Suddenly Robert Dudley was on his feet, following his wife to the door. She turned at once, speaking sharply under her breath. Robert tried to steer her back to her seat, and her eyes flashed fire at him.

‘Sit down, Amy,’ Robert said angrily. ‘Don’t make a fool out of me at Bonner’s table.’

‘You are in love with her!’ she exclaimed.

‘Not here, in God’s name. Not here.’

Glancing back at his former tutor, Robert Dudley bustled his wife out of the room, and I heard the couple arguing in the passageway beyond, still keeping their voices down even in anger as though such caution had become a habit.

So all was not well between Robert Dudley and his wife Amy. This was news the princess would embrace. But what had caused their quarrel?

You are in love with her!

Had Amy guessed the reason for his interest in Elizabeth?

‘Meg? Is that you, Meg?’

I turned, startled at the sound of my name.

John Dee was standing too. I looked back at the fair-haired conjuror, baffled. He had turned some old parchment out of his pocket, a torn scrap on which I could see his own black spidery handwriting, and was unfolding it as though to show Robert when he returned.

But to my amazement Dee’s eyes were on my face.

‘Meg Lytton?’ he whispered, then his strange gaze shifted and he looked past me, then around the room. ‘I sense a strange presence here. If there is a spirit with me, knock on the table to let me know you understand.’

I raised my eyebrows. Knock on the table? I attempted to do as he asked, but my hand passed straight through, making no sound.

‘So much for that,’ I muttered, and was taken aback when he turned at once in my direction again, his handsome face questing.

Could he
hear
me?

‘Meg,’ he whispered, fumbling with the paper in his hand. ‘If it is indeed you that I sense in this room, I received Richard’s letter – thank him for me – and have news in return for you.’ He tapped on it, waving the scrap in the air as though inviting me to take it. ‘
Invictus
. You see?’

Invictus?

I leaned over and looked at what he was waving. There was a drawing on the scrap of paper. A sketch of a ring, and beneath it the Latin word
Invictus
, underlined several times as if that was the ring’s name. He was tapping this word, and staring about the room.

‘
Invictus
,’ he repeated. His whisper became hoarse. ‘Only you must beware, it can be dangerous. If you begin to feel—’

But I missed the rest.

Something hit me hard on the side of the head, violently enough to turn the world black.

My eyes opened slowly. The world was blurred now, instead of black. That was an improvement at least. I was lying on the floor, back in the Lady Elizabeth’s bedchamber at Hatfield House. Everything appeared to be sideways, but when I attempted to right myself, my head throbbed like the Devil himself had struck it with his trident.

I winced at the thunderclap of pain across my temples. My tongue felt like a dry piece of cloth rolled up inside my mouth, and when I tried to speak, the words came out wrong. ‘What . . . what juth happened?’

‘Don’t try to get up. Or speak.’

Richard was kneeling before me, his face very pale. Gently he brushed the hair back from my forehead, dragged up my eyelids one by one, then examined my face with an intensity that frightened me.

‘Thank God,’ he muttered. ‘You are properly awake at last. I thought we would never get you back.’

‘So you hit me to make sure of it?’ I demanded indignantly.

The Lady Elizabeth appeared behind him. She handed me a white handkerchief drenched in rosewater. ‘Richard did not strike you. We could not rouse you from your trance, though it has been nearly an hour since you last spoke. Your eyes were closed, and you were so still . . . then quite suddenly you fell over and woke up. That is all we know.’

I looked at the floorboards accusingly. ‘So I did this to myself? I lost my balance and hit my head on the floor?’

‘You did.’ Richard leaned back with a strange expression. ‘But at least the shock brought you back. I had begun to worry we might lose you again. How do you feel? You look feverish.’

The rosewater smelled wonderfully refreshing. ‘I’ll live,’ I managed, and lifted the damp handkerchief to my face, cooling my skin.