In the Garden of Iden (13 page)

But that darkened his mood. He took a step closer and loomed over me.

“The Church of England?” he growled. “The one whose leaders even now recant like the hypocrites they are?”

He must have been close to seven feet tall with his biretta on.

“The crawling Council have sold this land to Spain, for the right to keep their miserable lives. Our Northumberland—you know who he was?”

“The Protestant faction leader,” I stammered. “He made Lady Jane Grey queen.”

“Poor maid. Yes, he did. And when he fell, he turned ranting Catholic at once, in the hope it would save his head.
She
died with more bravery. What man was that to lead us? But the ones who remain at Court have been more subtle in changing their coats. They remain on the Council, they conform. By the collusion of the men who should most defend them, the laws of our late king are set aside. How should I counsel you to join the Church of England, Lady, when it is made up of such rogues?”

“What has become of all those Bible-reading heretics we hear so much of in Spain?” I asked, startled by his vehemence. “All those learned merchants disputing doctrines?”

“Fled to live among the Germans,” he said bitterly, “for safety. Yet had they had the courage to stay here and fight for the Faith, we would all be safe enough.”
Except for the ones who died fighting for your faith
, I thought.

“All the same, I would be interested in reading this book of yours,” I said at last. “Even if there is no true faith in England.”

He took hold of my arm. He was very physical for such a godly man.

“Lady, the Faith is here,” he stated. “But we must build churches in our hearts, for surely those built in the world have all betrayed us.”

Now this was such a remarkable observation—for a sixteenth-century man mired in the perceptions and prejudices of mortals, I mean—that I was really impressed.

“Worldly institutions fail because they require power and gold to operate,” I explained, graciously, I felt. “Power and gold attract wicked and greedy people. Wicked and greedy people are corrupters and betrayers. Therefore, worldly institutions become corrupt and betrayed. Churches, being in the world, are worldly institutions. Thus it is demonstrated.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Very good. And very true, for all that you rattled it off like a parrot.”

Parrot! I tried to flounce away, but he still had hold of my arm. “And where have you ever seen a parrot, I’d like to know?” I said scornfully.

“We have several in the aviary. Yes, he collects birds, too. Come, tell me, where did you learn such a nice little piece of sophistry? Never in Spain.”

Sophistry! “We have not always lived in Spain,” I extemporized. “We fled to France for a while. After my father got out of the dungeons of the Inquisition.”

“How old were you at that time?”

“Four. It was not either a sophistry! If philosophers had ever thought about this for two minutes, humanity would stop building stupid worldly institutions like churches.”

“Not necessarily. Anyone can see the disease, but what is the remedy? Tell me, doctor’s child. Demonstrate for me the solution to the problem you have propounded.” His eyes were blazing, intense,
interested in me
.

“You are asking me for a solution for human evil? Don’t give your heart to any church, any leader, any idea. Collect rare plants like Sir Walter, or study them like me, but leave the damned world and its struggles alone.”

“No! A hermit may do as much, or an animal, and never lessen human misery one particle. One
must
work for a better world.” He had me by both arms now. “Listen to me. Shall we not struggle over ages to burn away what is evil in ourselves, until at some far day the angel with the flaming sword will relent and grant that we reenter Paradise?”

I hung there, gazing into his face, which shone with a radiance of belief so glorious, I didn’t think to point out to him that his own Bible specifically says people are going to get worse, not better, until his God finally ends the whole mess in a shower of blood and flames.

No, all I could feel was admiration. Somehow he had figured out the truth. For what he spoke of really would happen, of course: except for the part about the angel. The human race, sick of its own mortality, was going to develop the technology to produce Us. And We, obviously, were the next step, We were the perfected ones, the immortal and infinitely wise and intelligent beings he believed men would become.

I did not heed his racing pulse, nor mine. I loved the sound of his beating heart.

“Now, truly I think you could move mountains with your speech,” I gasped. “You almost do persuade me to such a faith as yours.”

His eyes held mine.

“I
will
persuade you,” he said. I ought to have heard warning sirens then, my heart ought to have run for a shelter.

But he was warm and solid as palpable sunlight, and I thought hazily: He wants to save my soul. How quixotic, how extravagant, how romantic.

He smoothed my coif. “Forgive me,” he said. “I am too forward with my hands, when once I begin to speak.”

“No, no.” I blinked and shook my head.

“I have been beaten for it ere now, and belike shall hang for it yet. Come, art thou well?” He lifted my chin in his hand and looked down into my eyes.

“Yes! Yes! Very well!”

“Come, Lady Rose. Let us go about our tasks as we were bid. Now I will show you a cabbage said to be like none other in the world.”

It turned out to be nothing more than a bok choy plant, though how it had got there was anybody’s guess. But there were real strawberries, growing from jars set cunningly in a wall; Nicholas could only find four ripe ones, but he picked them for me. And he dutifully pulled down a branch of
Eucalyptus cordata
that I could not reach, and he waited with patience while I took careful samples of what must have looked to him like the dullest of weeds. He led me to the aviary and, yes, by golly, there were parrots there: several African grays, half a dozen assorted Amazons, and even a big blue-and-gold macaw ceaselessly chewing its way up and down a bar. It cocked an eye at me.

“Buenos días,” it said.

“Buenos días,” I replied.

“Why, here at last is one who will welcome a Spanish lady to England,” jeered Nicholas pleasantly, just before the macaw said something so pungent, explicit, and imaginative that I blinked. Nicholas’s face went red. Evidently his Spanish too was pretty good.

“You must have had him from a sailor, yes?” I guessed.

Nicholas, recovering himself, looked at me a long moment; then we began to laugh. He had a nice laugh. I hadn’t thought godly people laughed.

So we were good friends, you see, by the time we came wandering back to the house that afternoon. But when we entered the great hall to find Joseph sitting placidly at the head of the long table, Nicholas stiffened. The mood dropped away, like a curtain falling, or a fine frost.

“Buenos días, daughter, young man.” Joseph looked up from his book. He had a glass of perry and a dish of wafers at his elbow. The fire, all cheerful, set lights dancing in the wine.

“Good day, sir. Where is my master? This is his accustomed place at this hour of the day,” said Nicholas.

“I administered him a purge.” Joseph smiled at him. “He is in his private chamber. You may seek him there.” I wished he wasn’t looking so damned comfortable, after I’d gone to such trouble to depict him as a tormented scholar.

Nicholas turned to me, bowed slightly, and withdrew. I heard his footsteps receding into the depths of the house.

“Wafer?” offered Joseph. “Well. Did my weary eyes deceive me, or were you two young things smiling at each other as you came in?”

“I could punch you sometimes.” I slammed my basket down on the table.

“You could try,” he informed me mildly. “I’d duck. So, did you have a nice day?”

“Actually, yes.” I sat down across from him. “I got some beautiful examples of the ilex and an obscure periwinkle and a white calendula, can you imagine?”

“Remarkable.” Joseph turned a page. “Striking fellow, your Master Harpole. Big. Seems to share some of your interests, too.”

“Don’t beat it to death. He
is
nice. Okay? How did your day go with Sir Walter? He’s really a mess, isn’t he?”

Joseph nodded. “Comparatively. He’s made of stern stuff, or he wouldn’t have survived this long. I did a little tinkering. Can’t take things too far too soon, but the old man will certainly get his new lease on life. Ha ha. It’s the young man I’m worried about.”

“Haven’t you got a one-track mind!” I rose to make an affronted exit.

“Now, now. Just my little way of looking after our best interests. By the way, I’ve left a list of the drugs I need synthesized on your credenza console. It’s two pages long, so you might want to get an early start on it.”

I made my affronted exit anyway.

Sir Walter reappeared at supper looking pale and shaky, and took only some toast and a cup of watered Rhenish; but Joseph told a series of anecdotes concerning the king of France and a Spanish mule driver. Joseph was so adept at telling a funny story that Sir Walter was red with laughter soon, making high shrill barks of mirth like a terrier, with his mustache points spiking the air. Even the servants were giggling.

Nicholas came to supper with us for the first time, very reserved and correctly courteous. He smiled at the anecdotes, though everyone else at table was crying from laughing so hard. But when I struggled to shell a handful of filberts, he leaned over and took them in his fist and cracked them, so, and cast them on the table between us where they rolled like dice. I looked up into his eyes. Was it quite right for a godly man to show off his strength like that? But then, there’d been no reason for me to act helpless with the nuts, since I could crush them to powder if I had to.

“…so the mule driver saith, ‘But, Your Majesty, that was why I married her!’” finished Joseph. Sir Walter beat his hand on the table and whooped his appreciation. Joseph leaned back in his chair, beaming, watching us.

“Nefer?” I turned the Rami lens slowly, fixing on a cell wall.

“Uhuh.” She did not look up from my magazine.

“What do you think of Master Harpole?”

“Who? Oh, the tall guy. Gee, wasn’t Joseph being a stinker about that this morning? Sending you off into the garden alone with him like that. Especially with you so nervous around mortals.”

“Well, it went okay. Really. In fact, he’s not so bad at all, for what he is. Have you scanned him?”

“Not closely.” Her attention was drifting back to the magazine.

“He’s so … healthy. And perfect. He’s a lot like one of us.”

“Head’s the wrong shape.” Some article was deeply interesting her. I cranked back the slide and processed it for transmission.

“Do you remember what you told me about having recreational sex with mortals?”

“Hm?” she said, and then played it back and lifted her head to stare at me. “Oops. No, I never said any such thing. Whatever it was you think I said. Listen, don’t let Joseph pressure you into doing anything you really don’t want to do. It’s perfectly understandable if the idea of, uh, you know, makes you sick. I may have said something kind of dumb about acquired tastes, but if I did, it was only to show you how comfortable some of us can feel around mortals. Okay?”

“Well, okay, do you think you’d feel comfortable around a mortal like Nicholas Harpole?”

Her brow furrowed. “I guess so. He looks clean.”

“He’s
intelligent
. I never met a mortal with a real working brain before.”

“Big surprise, isn’t it?” She focused in on the magazine. “Well, congratulations. At the rate you’re going, you’ll have that AAE off your file in no time.”

“How did you know I had an AAE?” I was stung. “Those things are supposed to be confidential!”

She just looked at me bleakly. “Sorry,” she said. “They’re not. Another big surprise.”

“Boy!” I flung another slide into the credenza, so hard it beeped in protest. Nefer sighed.

“You work for the Company, Mendoza. This is what it’s like.”

“I saw a unicorn today,” I told her maliciously.

“Sir Walter has a rhinoceros out there, huh?” She lost herself in the magazine again. “Wow. They’re releasing the complete series of Jason Barrymore films on ring holo next month.”

So who cared.

“I
KNOW NOTHING OF
your life, Master Harpole, do you know that?” I said coquettishly. It was difficult to be a coquette while trying to keep artichoke leaves out of one’s mouth. We were busy wrestling a very determined taproot up out of the mud.

“Hm?” he said, and then “Ha!” as the nasty thing sagged over, defeated in the grass. I bent to cut the parts I needed for processing.

“Your artichoke is not your phoenix among herbs,” panted Nicholas, wiping his hands.

“Pardon?”

“This is not a rare plant, you know,” he pointed out, switching to Latin.

“No, not rare, but very good for gross humors of the blood.” I sliced off spines. “Or so my father says. Sir Walter is troubled with them, I am told.”

“And is your father troubled with them also?”

“Sometimes.” I squinted up at him. “There, behold. I have told you more, and you have told me nothing. You have drawn volumes of information out of me. You’d make a good spy.” Coquettishness in Latin. I felt pretty proud of myself. He gave me a look.

“Why, Lady, for all I know some friar is hiding close by, writing down every word we say.”

“He’d be more likely to be spying on me than on you, I fear. But, since I am a woman and therefore given to curiosity, I must know all about you. Where were you born?”

“Hampstead.”

“Where were you educated?”

“Balliol.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Using my wits to earn my bread.”

“This rush of personal confidences is making me dizzy,” I told the artichoke. “So you were at Balliol? At Oxford? And you didn’t enter the Church?”

“No. I lack personal discipline. But a good friend recommended me to Sir Walter, and so I keep his accounts and dine at his table, and no man has cause to complain of me.” He folded his hands in a manner that suggested the story was at an end.

“Did you get all that, Fray Diego?” I called over the hedge. “Well, you must excuse me. You know how we women are. Once we think something’s hidden to us, we die to discover what it is.”

“Now you’re quoting from our Chaucer,” he said. “Aren’t you?”

“
Wife of Bath
,” I admitted. “But Aristotle too.”

“Yes.” He watched me, smiling. I folded the parts of the artichoke I needed in a clean napkin and considered the remaining mess. I wondered if I should leave it for the gardener to clean up. Nicholas said, “You surely aren’t saying you accept Aristotle’s views on the female sex.”

“What, that we’re evil? Really, señor, would you believe something like that about yourself simply because some old pagan said it? And a Greek too.”

“Our Lord had several female friends,” observed Nicholas. “And women lived among His disciples. Without sin, we must assume.” My turn to give him a look.

“I suppose so,” I said. “The issue is whether carnal intercourse is sinful. Do you imagine Jesus Himself was a virgin at the age of thirty-three?”

He gaped.

“Did you often say things like that in Spain?” he asked finally.

“No, of course not. It wasn’t safe.”

“Nor is it any safer here, especially with your prince in our land. Please, think before you speak.”

“I do. Am I not safe from betrayal with you?”

He leaned closer and switched from Latin to Greek. “And if you are, it is because we are alone in this place, and I see no danger in striving with you in the little intellectual contests you propose. But I would not speak so recklessly in front of anyone else, and neither must you.”

“Why? Would Master Ffrawney run off to tell the nearest bishop?”

He snorted. “Without doubt. And then your father would have much to explain! The last thing anyone expected to see in England was a Spanish heretic.”

“Oh, well.” I got up from the grass and brushed off my skirt. “And I was so hoping we might have a discussion of the nature of
agape
. When the term is defined as a ‘love-feast,’ do you suppose they mean—”

“Hush! Hush! Hush!” He scrambled to his feet and put his hand over my mouth. I looked at him over the edge of his hand. He looked away. “I think I would like to have your father beaten,” he said finally. I pulled away.

“You’d have to catch him first,” I said.

“Yes, and I have a feeling that that would be difficult. He seems to be an able little twister in the nets of the law. By your leave. But he had no business bringing up a daughter so.”

“What do you mean? Should he have denied me an education?” I was actually insulted.

“By no means. But he ought to have taught you discretion as well as Greek and Aramaic, Lady, lest you come to harm.”

“Am I not discreet? Only with you would I say such rash things, because I know
you
would never do me harm,” I said, flirt, flirt, wishing I had a fan to flutter.

“And you are correct! I hope I know better than to meddle with the daughter of a man who administers purges.” He folded his arms and smiled.

“He’s an able swordsman, I’ll have you know,” I told him when I had stopped laughing.

“No doubt.”

“Renowned throughout Madrid, Valladolid, and the Alhambra.”

“In truth.”

“Deadly with a blade of Toledo steel.”

“Deadlier with a good dose of laxative. No, if ever I wronged you, I’d keep close to my chamberpot, lest calamity befall. You need not fear me. But in God’s name, Lady, have a care what you say.”

I was in high spirits at my credenza that night, let me tell you; my fingers just flew over the keys. I synthesized four vials of anti-hypertensive in the time it took Nefer to repair her mantilla, which had met with an unfortunate accident in the trailing canopy of the bed. She was going crazy with boredom in England but not me, boy. I liked it here.

It happened that a remedy for Nefer’s ennui arrived only the next morning, much to her surprise.

The day dawned dark, pouring black rain, so we were all gathered in the great hall watching Sir Walter eat his healthful, low-cholesterol breakfast. Joseph was watching him, anyway, and maybe Nefer; I was too busy making eye contact with Master Harpole to pay attention. But here came Francis Ffrawney, bowing and scraping, to announce:

“Sir Walter, there is a common sort of man at the gate saying he hath property of Doctor Ruy’s and would speak to him thereof.” All eyes turned to Joseph.

“What sort of man?” Joseph inquired.

“A poor sort, sir, a very rascal in a leather hood, that swears great oaths and will not move from the gate without he be granted your ear. I must warn your worship, he may well be some heretic malcontent.”

“Why, that honest fellow!” Joseph leaped to his feet in feigned surprise. “This should be that same innkeeper that brought my baggage ashore. He must have found the chest I so unwittingly left behind.”

This was news to me, but I piped up: “Truly, Father, the men of England are as honest as they are tall.” More flirting and wished-for fan in Master Harpole’s direction.

So Xenophon was admitted, all muddy and horsey, with a lot of stamping and swearing. He clumped up to Joseph and went down on one knee, holding out a plain wooden chest. It was not one we had brought from Spain.

“My good signior!” he said. “You had scarce been gone an hour when our lad Wat, him that carries away the chamber-lye in the jordans, he comes a-running down the stairs. Quoth he, ‘That there Spanish grandee hath left a thing like a box in his room!’ ‘That’s a wonder to be sure,’ quoth I, and I went and looked, and to be sure you had left this. And since meseemeth this must be a very important casket, doubtless filled with what ye shall sore need in England”—wide take to be sure we got the point—“I thought it were best to bring it straight here myself.”

“May God and the good Saint James bless thee for thy care,” effused Joseph. “Let me give thee something for thy troubles.” He groped in his purse and handed out what looked like a doubloon but was actually a mint Theobromos patty in silver paper.

“Such munificence!” exclaimed Xenophon. “I’m a-going to go out and buy me a cow with this, see if I don’t.” He prostrated himself at Joseph’s feet. “I could kiss thy shoe of Cordovan leather, sir, that I could.”

“Away, worthy peasant.” Joseph waved at him. I was wondering how long they were going to carry on like this when Master Ffrawney sniffed:

“Will you not open the box, sir, and satisfy yourself that all your goods are safe within?”

There was an awkward pause. Joseph and Xenophon exchanged glances. Xenophon shrugged imperceptibly. “An excellent thought,” conceded Joseph. Coding the unseen lock, he lifted the lid.

The chest contained things that appeared to be books but weren’t, a couple of things that appeared to be surgeon’s tools but weren’t, and what appeared to be three jars of medicinal herbs. All these must have been the electronic tools and chemicals Joseph would need for his work on Sir Walter. Packed carefully apart from the rest was a little ornamented box with a couple of gold birds, or something, on the lid. Joseph held it up to the firelight, and his smiling face did not betray that he had no idea what the hell it was for.

But Nicholas leaned forward, frowning in astonishment. “That is a model of the Ark of the Covenant of the Israelites!” he stated.

“Yes, of course,” Joseph agreed. “It’s a, uh, reliquary. Enshrined within is a fragment of the pelvis of Saint Mary Magdalene. I never travel without it.”

Nicholas sat back, his face a mask of disgust. Xenophon stepped forward and said: “Pardon me, sir, but an angel appeareth to be loose.” He reached out and gave one of the lid ornaments a little twist.

Click.

—
KZUS, continuing your round-the-clock coverage of the royal wedding. And it looks like the rain’s letting up here, so we may be able to go down into the street in a minute or two and see if we can interview somebody. I’ve certainly got an impressive view of Winchester Cathedral from where I’m stationed. I can see the floral decorations that the town council put up and believe me, folks, they certainly had a lot of work last night in the rain. And, say, those flowers are just beautiful. What kind are they, Justinian?

Well, Decius, it says here those are pansies and heliotropes and of course the famous red-and-white Tudor roses. Folks, it’s nine-hundred hours and counting on this day of the royal wedding. We’ll be back to you on KZUS with the latest developments after this musical interlude
. The strains of a basse-dance filled the room.

And Sir Walter went right on spooning down his oat porridge, and Nicholas still sat with his arms folded, staring sullenly into the fire. Master Ffrawney was still gazing on the reliquary with a suitable expression of reverent awe. They couldn’t hear a thing, of course. It was being broadcast in a frequency out of mortal range.

“I desire to offer fervent prayers of thanksgiving.” Nefer got up and took the radio out of Joseph’s hands. “Give me leave, señor, to commune with the blessed saints for a while.”

It would have been dangerous to get in her way. He bowed her out of the room, and she swept up the stairs, music trailing after her. Joseph pulled at his beard thoughtfully. He extended a hand to Xenophon.

“I shall see thee to thy horse, good fellow. By your leave, Sir Walter?”

Sir Walter waved his spoon at them in a dismissive way. They exited together. I got up and went to sit beside Nicholas. We looked at each other: he was still fuming. Yet he moved his thigh just a little closer to mine on the settle.

“What a joyous occasion this is!” exclaimed Master Ffrawney, when he realized that nobody else was going to make conversation. “Now good fortune and the blessing of the saint will surely attend the faithful in this house!”

“Even so.” Sir Walter did not look up from his porringer.

“Amen!” Master Ffrawney looked pointedly at Nicholas. Nicholas did not move, but his eyes swiveled to look at Master Ffrawney.

“Now I wonder,” Nicholas drawled, “what miraculous cures we shall owe to the holy pelvis of the Magdalene?”

Oh, what a smell of testosterone. Bright red and flashing, the readout appeared in midair, showing me the changing blood chemistry of all three men, with figures on the statistical probability of violence erupting. My body was already moving of its own accord, but as I got up to leave, I touched Nicholas’s shoulder.

“Master Harpole,” I quavered. “There is a thing I saw from the window, that I would know more of. Will it please you to come see it with me?”

With a last contemptuous stare at Master Ffrawney, Nicholas got to his feet and followed me out of the room. I led the way to a gallery on the second floor, well away from the monkey smell, and looked out a window at the rainy landscape. I found a gilded cupola to point at.

“There! What is that, please?” I asked. He looked briefly.

“That is the roof of the aviary,” he said.

“Oh. We went there, didn’t we? How different it all looks from up here.”

He didn’t say anything. I looked down at the floor. “I would not have had you come to blows with Master Ffrawney,” I explained.

“Small matter if we had.” He smiled bitterly. “Belike I’d have cracked his hypocrite’s crown for him.”

“Wrath is a sin, is it not? Wherefore be glad you have not sinned.”

He nodded, calming down a little, watching the storm.

“I am sorry about the box,” I said at last.

“What, the Ark of the Covenant?” He lounged against the wall, turning to face me. “Sweet Jesu, Lady, what a piece of arrant popery! And your father a learned man too. Truly the more I know of him, the less I know what manner of thing he is.”

“Master Harpole, there are no religious relics in that box.”

“No!” He flung up his hands in mock amazement.

“But my father did not feel himself amongst folk he could trust, and he had to say something. The box is—” I thought fast. “The box is connected with his studies. His more arcane studies.”

Nicholas gave a slow incredulous grin. “What? A wizard?” Damn it, didn’t
anybody
believe in witchcraft anymore?

“Rather, I should say—” I looked up and down the corridor. I switched to Greek. “My father has made some study of what you might call alchemy. Also mathematics and the properties of physical bodies.”