In the Shadow of Shakespeare (30 page)

 “Flinging
coppses.”  Aaron swore under his breath, and flung the casement window
open.  A breeze blew in, whisking away the tang of the pungency.

 “He’s
been tortured.  Strappado.”  Aaron sat on the edge of the bed. 

Her
face turned white as she cradled his head.  “Get him some water,
Aaron.  He’s dying of dehydration.”

 “Lady?” 

She
realized he would not know the word dehydration; it hadn’t been invented yet.

 “Get
him some water!”  She shrieked. 

He
ran down the stairs and returned with a basin of water and a
goblet.   She took a section of the sheet, dipped it in the water,
and wiped his hot grimy face.  He blinked up at her.

 “Shh…shh.” 
She lifted the goblet to his lips, and trickled the water into his mouth. 
His throat constricted, and then he drank greedily.

He
gasped and sputtered, trying to grab her arm but could not because his elbow
was dislocated.  He began to cry, and Alice rocked him. 

 “Mare,”
Alice whispered through his hair.  “Can you find Mare, Aaron?  Tell her…no
matter, she will know what has happened.”

Aaron
silently slipped from the room.  Alice rocked Thomas for a long
while.  The shadows shifted in the room, and the sky became a steel
gray.  The carefree sounds of children playing in the street drifted through
the air. 

Thomas
struggled to speak and Alice gave him sips of water.

 “Kit
is gone.” He rasped.  “Sir Thomas Walsingham’s.  Privy Council is on
him.  Found papers,”  He winced.  “In mine.”

 “Papers.” 
Alice said.  She looked up towards the window.  Swallows flew by
catching the evening bugs.  Predator and prey. 

Twilight
had come.

Chapter 39

Under
the cover of night, Aaron and Alice set off towards Scadbury, home of Thomas
Walsingham, Sir Francis’s cousin.  Alice was still robed in the travel
dress that she had worn in the coach for the queen’s visit, now torn and
soiled.  Her hair was matted, and she had not bathed in a week.  The
stench of her body repulsed her. 

Aaron
did not seem to mind as they set off in this new adventure.  He rode high
on his horse and took command of the way along brooks and the little lanes that
had been in use since the time of the Celts.  Tiny fireflies pricked the
darkness, dancing along beside them and up ahead of the lane.  Twice she
saw movement in the bushes.

 “’Tis
the old ones.  Or vagabonds.  Cony catchers.”  He said. 
“Perchance they will stop a rider and ask for money,” he looked at her. “and
sometimes more.”

Alice
shuddered to think of being pulled off the horse, raped, and
pick-pocketed.           
“They know me, Alice.”  He puffed out his chest.  “You are safe with
me, Lady.”

 “How
so?”

 “I
‘ha paid the way to travel this trail.”

 “I
would rather believe in fairies, Aaron.”

 “Nay,
they art large, that folk.  They may beguile ye, and lead you astray.”

 ***

The
lane branched of and then became narrow as they made their way towards
Scadbury.  Aaron said that they were close, but trees crowded on either
side, shielding the manor from their eyes.  Alice finally caught a glimpse
of it. Rising from the trees, three towers proclaimed their dominance to the
sky.  The horses stood, pawing at the earth while they looked at the large
manor.  Alice wiped a grimey hand across her brow.

 “Is
that a moat, Aaron?”

 “’Tis. 
Truly we are amongst nobles.”  He urged his horse forward.

Lights
twinkled in the glass as they approached, and a shadow moved in front of a
window.  Alice quickly moved forward and motioned for Aaron to stop.

 “Are
we in danger? ”

 “Nay,
Alice.  Ye shall see.” 

They
dismounted, secured their horses, and stood in front of the moat waiting for
the bridge to be lowered.  Gardens surrounded the estate, and the air
smelled of sweet rose.

The
bridge was slowly lowered.  They walked across and were met at the
imposing wooden doors by a man dressed in a plain jerkin and trousers.  He
nodded and led them into the interior.  The front opened into a vast hall
ensconced with tapestries and paintings.  Candles and torches lined the
walls and the floor was an alabaster marble with a center pattern of a rose, a
lion and a boar. 

There
was the sound of echoing footsteps. Alice watched as Kit walked towards them
down a long hall towards them with another man.  The sun came out from
behind a cloud and backlit them from a hall window, lining the figures in light. 
The man was taller than Kit, and they walked easily together. 

 Thomas
bowed before them.  Kit took her hand and brushed his lips lightly against
it.  The featheriness of the kiss reminded her of the quill and the night
spent in bed professing secrets and love.  She took a sharp intact of
breath as the electricity again ran down her spine.

 “My
mistress who art master of my passions, Thomas.  Alice.”

It
was not clear to her if he was speaking of her or of Thomas.  Kit’s eyes
burned into hers as riddles and spider’s webs began to weave together in her
chest, creating a tight knot.

“Lady,
I have heard wondrous tales of your intelligence and beauty.  I must say I
can certainly vouch for the beauty that Kit spoke of.”  He bowed slightly
before her.

“And
here ‘tis our clown, one Hadeus.”  Kit said.

“Clown,
care you to sup?  There is ample provisions in our kitchen.  The
servants have taken leave to dine.  I dare say you look in need of
refreshment.”  Thomas said.

“Aye,
sir.  I shall water and bed our horses.  And, if I be so bold, to
bath, sir?  I am afraid the scent of offal is upon us from the long
journey.”  Hadeus held his nose. 

Thomas
laughed.  “Merriment is refreshing clown, and the smell of one so bold
should be clean.  Take care and find old Harry.  He shall be in the
stable now, and will lead you to clean and care for horse, stave your hunger,
and perchance find some nightly merriment.”

Aaron
bowed deeply and doffed his cap.  Leaving, he walked the long hall where
Kit and Sir Thomas had come. 

“And
you, fair Alice?  You look weary.  Perchance you would care to bathe
before we sup?”  Thomas said.

“Sir,
if I may be so bold.  I must speak with Kit alone, I –”

“Come,
come, Alice.  You are weary.  It is written on your face.  Bathe
and then we shall sup.  Perchance we shall walk in the garden.  It
has been said that my gardens are the finest in Kent.”  He placed his hand
on the small of her back, leading her towards the stairs.  “One of the
women shall help you with your bath.”

Alice
moved from his hand.  “But sir, it is of the gravest importance that I
speak with Kit.  He is in grave dan –”

 “Soft,
lady, soft." He held a finger to his lips.  "If there is
something to say, you may say it to both Kit and I.  We are one in the
same mind.  Is not that true, sweet heart.”  He ran his hand along
Kit’s arm.

Kit
blushed.  Rubbed the back of his neck.  “’Tis true, Tom.  But
Alice has come riding hard a long way.  ‘Tis nothing to listen to a few
words.”

Thomas
looked towards the hall window, lost in thought.  The sun had gone behind
a cloud, and the hall had turned a somber gray.  “A few words.  Lady,
I know of the danger you speak of.  All of London is being bitten by the
plague.  Kit is here for his protection.  He seeks solace to write
and replenish his wit.” 

The
flush of anger Alice felt rose to her voice, molding the words strong and
clear:  “Sir Thomas, the plague is not disease that I speak of.  The
disease I speak of, this plague, is being propagated by the very church masters
of which Elizabeth keeps council, she – ”

 “Peace!”
Thomas gripped her arm.  Alice cried out and Kit pushed Thomas away from
her.

 “What
say you!  She seeks to protect me Tom, and you treat her this way?”

Thomas
held up his hand as a gesture of appeasement, then ran it through his
hair.  “I pray your forgiveness, fair Alice.  I am not of right
mind…as of late.  I desire fair action and fair speech within my
house.  We must take our discussion at dinner, where we will all be
refreshed and of like mind.  Come Kit.”

Kit
briefly met her eyes.  He and Thomas began walking past the stairs to the
great room of the house while she began her long climb up the stairs to the
upper reaches of Sir Thomas’s dwelling. 

 ***

The
bath left her feeling refreshed.  She was surprised at how at ease she
felt being scrubbed and dried by Celeste, a Frenchwoman who spoke little
English.  Alice used hand gestures and pointing to make her self
understood.  Despite the language barrier, Celeste seemed to understand
the tension and pressure that Alice was feeling.  

She
helped Alice into a fresh chemise of cool smelling cotton, then a farthingale
that fit like a hoop along her waist. A corset which lifted her breasts up and
out was placed around her waist.   Celeste then tied a petticoat
filled with stars and moons – a delicately patterned luminescent needlework
around the ensemble.  Then came an overskirt which was a deep purple
velvet and cut low at the bosom.  Celeste handed her a bottle of lavender
cologne and attempted to place a feathered hat on her head.  Alice brushed
it aside.

“No! 
I feel like a stuffed cabbage as it is, Celeste.”

“Eh? 
Cabbage?
  What is?”  Celeste rhymed the word with mirage.

Alice
shook her head, tugging on the dress.  “Too hard to explain, this dish.”

“Ah. 
Oui.
  Go?”  Celeste pointed towards the door.

“I
suppose we are finished with all of this nonsense.”  Alice held a mirror
and examined her face.  Nothing had changed.  The image presented her
with no solution to the problems that lay at hand.  The dirt form the road
had been washed off, leaving her with a fresh facade to tackle the dirty
problems which were on the first floor.  She wondered about the growing
animosity between her and Sir Thomas Walsingham.  Would she soon be wanted
at dinner? She looked towards the window.  The sun was still high in the
sky.  Too early for dinner.  

They
began their long descent down the stairs, Alice with skirts gathered in one
hand, the other hand on the staircase rail.  When she reached the bottom
of the bottom of the stairs Alice wondered where Kit must be.  Laughter
erupted from the kitchen, and they walked towards the jubilant noise. 
Aaron and a man she had not previously met sat at the servant’s table drinking
ale.

Aaron
held his cup towards her in a toast.  “My fair Alice.  
Refreshed and feeling fond of the poet that Sir Thomas does fancy?”  He
chuckled and held his drink high, toasting her.  “You’re a sight better
than Sir Tom I might say.  This is Hal, the cook and bright
woodsman.  Bringing us warmth of the wood.  And ale.  Aye, Hal.”

“Oh,
Aye.  A jack of all trades be I.” 

Aaron
looked at Celeste standing off to the side behind Alice.  He let out a low
whistle.  “Marry, here’s a well made bed,”  He stood and bowed
deeply, doffing his cap.  “Who is this beauty of the manor?

“This
is Celeste, Hadeus."

Celeste
curtsied.

"Ah,
celestial heavenly Celeste.  I am enraptured."  Wide eyed, he
took a sip of ale.

"
Shall I tell her your
real
name?  asked Alice.

“She
shalt find out soon enough.  Trimmed as a wick am I.  A pocketful of
poking Sabbath.”  He winked at Celeste, and she smiled broadly with a
blank look upon her face.  He frowned, searching her face for an
understanding of his jest.  “She is deaf or knows not a lick of English.”

Hal
chuckled.

“Nay,
Hadeus.  She is French born and bred.  She knows little of our
language.”  said Alice. 

Celeste
smiled.  “Born and bred a Frenchwoman, ‘tis true.  But of your
language?  Of this I know of the Jews and their Sabbath, one Aaron. 
The Sabbath is as long and wide as the course of the river Thames through the
fertile valley.  Sustaining many a Jew it does.”  Her eyes sparked as
she looked at him slyly.

“Aye,
Celeste, touché to you.  You have rapt me soundly. Come sit, join our
merriment.  A bit of good wine? We have uncorked the best the master has
in store.”

“You
have earned it,” began Hal.  “Celeste and I have heard of your coming from
Sir Tom.  We have played the jest and the fool for you fool,” He nodded
towards Alice.  “Pray pardon, my Lady, but it couldn’t be helped.  We
had no idea what your suit and countenance would bring.”

“I
see.  But what of our host?  Truly, what does he think of us?” 
Alice said.

Hal
rose from the table and went to the latticed window facing the garden.  He
held his hands behind his back.  “Truly?  Sir Tom is a good
man.”  He looked out upon the garden, his face turned away from the
others. Alice could not read him.