Serpent Never Sleeps (2 page)

He wasn't to blame for calling me such. I wore high boots, with my skirt tucked up, and my long hair
bound tight and hidden under a headpiece of rabbit-fur earlaps.

"My name, sir, is Serena Lynn."

"Ho," he said, drawing close to have a better look. "And what do you accomplish at Foxcroft? Something lithesome, I dare say, judging from your white hands, the noble breadth of brow, the hesitant tilt of your head, as if you were not quite sure what this life holds for you."

"I read to Countess Diana. Her sight is poor."

"Yes, quite poor, but the only thing poor about the lady."

"And I write letters for her."

"Social letters?"

"Mostly, sir."

"Did you write the invitation to a masque in honor of somebody or other, two months from now, the thirteenth?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Carr cleared his throat and said, "We cannot attend. We'll be hunting in the North Country on that day."

"Whereabouts," the king asked, "do we hunt?"

"At Arondon Lodge."

"Oh, yes. I had luck there last year, didn't I?"

"Six stags in less than a day, sire."

"And another wounded that ran off."

The king drew closer and said, "Perhaps, Miss Serena, you'll write me about the masque. Who was there. Who kissed whom. Who got drunk and fell in
the river—and so forth. I like gossip. And I like your writing very much. Your words move like a file of my grenadiers, marching across the page under kingly banners."

I thought of telling him how I had come to have such stately handwriting, that I had been born left-handed but my teachers had insisted that I use my right hand, which resulted in the letters slanting neither to the right nor to the left, but meeting as desired, smack in the middle.

"You write letters. Now tell me, young lady, what do you read to Countess Diana?"

"I read your beautiful book of poesy and another book of yours, the book named
Demonologies.
"

At the word "demonologies," the king's face changed. The piercing eyes grew fearful and sought mine.

"I am told there are some hereabouts. Demons, haunts, witches. Have you met any?"

"None, Your Majesty."

"That's good to hear."

He brightened and glanced up at Foxcroft Castle, where a shaft of sunlight struck the many windows, its chimneys and turrets, the clockhouse rising above the rooftops.

"The castle has a bonny look," he said, "peaceful to the eye."

"'Twas peaceful once, not long ago," I was emboldened to say. "But not now, sire, not now."

"You speak distressfully, grow pale. What disturbs Foxcroft and you?"

"Countess Diana's son has gone."

"Who? Gone where?"

"Anthony Foxcroft has been taken away. He's in London in jail, in the Tower."

"On what charge?"

"For libeling the king."

"I know nothing about it. I do not feel libeled at all. Should I?"

From the moment I knew I was in the presence of the king, I had thought of little else. It was a wonderful chance to speak on Anthony's behalf. But now with the chance thrust upon me, with the king waiting to hear what I had to say, I could only stare at him and say nothing.

Robert Carr spoke up. "Anthony Foxcroft has been brought before the chief magistrate for saying he wished the Gunpowder Plot had succeeded. And you, Your Majesty, had been blown sky-high."

This was an outrageous lie. It shocked me to my senses. "Begging your pardon," I exclaimed, "Anthony Foxcroft never said this thing."

Carr lifted his gun and took aim at a passing bird. "How do you know?" he asked.

"I was present when the story was told. It was meant as a joke. There was much laughter. The mayor of Wentworth laughed and so did Carew, lord deputy of Ireland. Everyone laughed."

The king turned his eyes upon the castle. "What, what?" he said. "Anthony Foxcroft in London? In the Tower?"

"It all happened," I said, "at a masque given by Countess Diana to celebrate Guy Fawkes Day. Anthony told a long story about Fawkes and the Gunpowder Plot. How the conspirators had dug a tunnel under the Parliament building, and had filled it with iron bars, fagots, and thirty-six barrels of gunpowder. Set to go off the day Parliament was to open."

"I am acquainted with all this," the king broke in. "What did young Foxcroft say that brought him before the chief magistrate?"

"Yes, what?" Carr asked, annoyed at me. "Quit rambling!"

Now that I had found my tongue and the king was listening, I was determined not to be hurried.

"Anthony stood beside his mother, by the big fountain, in front of a hundred guests, and said—I remember his words, every one of them.

"'Can you imagine this moment?' he said. 'After a long and dangerous effort a tunnel has been dug. It's filled with gunpowder. Enough to blow Parliament into the heavens and back, along with every minister, the lords and their retainers, even the king himself. The conspirators have planned an escape once the powder has been set off. Horses are ready along the line of flight. Houses are waiting where the men can hide as they flee. And what transpires?

"'We have a curious scene. The door of the cellar
that stores the gunpowder stands open, on the theory that an open door allays suspicion. And in front of the door walks Guy Fawkes, sword in hand, mustache abristle.

"'The earl of Suffolk, who is in charge of the houses of Parliament, happens by, having heard rumors about a plot. At the bottom of a stairway he sees an open door and decides to enter. He finds a cellar stacked with fagots, enough to fuel the city. Out he comes and says to Fawkes, "What is it? What's the purpose of all the fagots?"

"'"It's firewood," Fawkes mutters. "Belongs to the earl of Northumberland."

"'"Huh." Suffolk grunts and leaves.

"'But at midnight he returns with a group of deputies. In their stockinged feet they creep down the stairs and find Guy Fawkes in front of the open door. He struggles like a madman and holds them off, but they subdue him. Beneath the fagots they find powder, a long train of it winding through the mound of wood.'"

Robert Carr and the king were still listening.

"At this moment Patricia, the Covington daughter, said, 'What would you do if you wished to blow up Parliament, all its ministers, and the king?'

"I've never given it much thought," Anthony replied.

"'But if you did,' Patricia persisted, 'how would you go about it? Would you dig the tunnel secretly and tell no one?'

"Anthony closed his eyes and said, 'A jug of water stands beside the king. He always has a big thirst, which arises from the drinking of too much sweet wine. I'd dress myself in a servant's uniform, walk in, and pick up the jug. If anyone asked what I was about, I'd say I was freshening the water. Then I'd take the jug out, empty it, fill it with gunpowder, and take it back.'

"'Oh, my!" Patricia said. 'Then you would light the fuse, run out, and change your clothes. Then everything would blow up—the building, the ministers and their retainers...

"'Not everyone. Just me and the king.'

"'Oh, not the king!'

"'Yes, he'd be flying along right beside me.'"

I cast a quick look at His Majesty, not at all sure he would like the picture of himself flying through the air. To my immense relief, he was pounding his chest in glee.

"Clever," he gasped. "Clever fellow, this one. When I wish to have someone blown into the sky I'll send for Anthony Foxcroft."

The king drank deeply from a wine flask he took from his doublet and, after a moment, instructed Carr to see that Anthony Foxcroft was released.

"A mistake, Your Majesty," Carr objected. "Foxcroft must be taught a lesson. We'll introduce him to the rack."

The rack was an ancient device which the king had improved since the time when he ruled the Scots and
wished to rid the land of witches. Those he condemned as witches were fastened to the contraption. Wheels were turned, and as they turned, legs and arms and joints were slowly stretched out of shape, inch by inch.

"Show it to him, at least," Carr said. "And introduce him to the leg iron."

This was a clamp, an invention of the king, which fit the leg from ankle to knee and was screwed tight gradually, snapping the bones.

"Foxcroft's an arrogant fellow," Carr said.

"Arrogant, like all the young," the king said.

"Arrogant now, a conspirator later," Carr said. "Nits grow up to be lice."

I tried to stifle the cry that rose in my throat. To no avail. As it echoed in the meadow, Carr gave me a curious look.

"Why does the fate of this arrogant youth concern you so much that you cry out like a wounded stag?"

I didn't try to answer.

"You gave us Foxcroft's story with great emotion. Tears were in your voice. You wrung your hands. A pretty act, my dear, a believable story as you imagined it, but one far from the truth. You should be an actress and play Shakespeare's sad Ophelia."

Still I did not answer. The king noted my silence. "No more of this," he said.

Robert Carr took heed. Smiling, he said, "I ask your pardon, miss. I did not know until this very moment that you were in love with Anthony Foxcroft.
Had I known, most surely I would not have expressed myself in this fulsome way. A thousand pardons!"

"Enough," the king said. "Send word to London by yonder squire that Foxcroft is to be released."

Robert Carr stiffened as the king fixed him with the look of one who was sent by God Himself to be His voice here on earth.

"Move upon this at once," the king said.

Carr hesitated. He had beautiful pink and white skin. Lustrous auburn locks framed a girlish face with a small red mouth that he set in an angry pout upon hearing the king's command.

A brief contest of glances followed. Then the king said, "Move or else you will be the worse for it."

Robert Carr bowed stiffly and went off at a leisurely pace to deliver the message which he did not like at all. When he returned, the king asked where the pretty buck and the seven fat doe were hiding. Before Carr could answer, a horn sounded and a herd of deer broke cover. The buck brushed past me, so close I could feel its hot breath.

King James aimed his gun and brought it down with a single shot.

"Bravo!" Carr shouted. "For three days you haven't used your gun, yet you shoot with your same deadly ease."

The king laughed. He was very proud of his skill as a huntsman, and I knew that he hunted whenever he had the chance. When he came to England to be
crowned, surrounded by thousands of admirers, he spied deer grazing in a pasture, leaped from his horse, and killed three. And as soon as he was crowned, he started off with his gun to visit estate after estate to kill more.

Retainers shouted "halloo," took out their sharp knives, and busied themselves with the carcass. I started off to find my brother, who had edged away, but the king grasped my arm and led me to where the sharp knives were flashing.

He scooped up some of the stag's blood, washed his hands in it, and spread some on his padded chest. Reaching out, he daubed my forehead with a bloody finger.

Shocked, forgetful that I stood in the presence of a king, I recoiled at his touch.

"It is a talisman," Carr explained.

"More, much more," the king said.

He climbed up and stood in the steaming carcass. In the mist that swirled about him he was truly a kingly figure, as if he had taken some strength from the blood of the slain deer.

"'Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble,'" he said, quoting from
Macbeth.
"'Twill burn the witch's brood," he added, quoting himself.

Scrambling out of the carcass, he wiped his hands upon Carr's silk doublet. From his little finger he took a ring and slipped it on the middle finger of my right hand. It fit perfectly.

Carr frowned, albeit he must have grown used to the king's generosity. It was well known throughout the land that His Majesty liked to dispense to his favorites pretty baubles and fine jewelry, also hills and rivers and castles. In one generous afternoon, he had created more than thirty knights, twelve barons, three dukes, two earls, and a handful of baronets.

"A princely gift," Carr explained. Then, taking my silence for ingratitude, he said, "Stand not like a little churl. Open your pretty mouth and thank His Majesty."

Summoning my breath and all my wits, I did so and made something of a curtsy besides.

"You will see," the king said, taking my hand, "that the ring you wear takes the form of a serpent. The serpent's coiled thrice round in a circle, thus depicting the soul from birth to ascension. You will also see that the jeweled eyes are half-closed. Do not be deceived. Neither night nor day, in all of life's strange maneuvers, do the eyes ever sleep. Beneath their hooded lids they silently observe, and upon what they observe, should it threaten your life, they quickly, act.

The king dropped my hand. It burned. My throat burned. My forehead burned.

"Guard the ring well," he said, "and it shall guard you."

"From what?" I stammered.

"From harm."

"From all harm? Forever?"

"Forever, but not from all. There are many harms, too many. Not from those that arise from jealousy and from greed, especially. Only from those that threaten your precious life shall my serpent guard you."

"And guard you it shall," Robert Carr said, aware that I was puzzled. "The serpent ring is the king's magic mark and sign."

His Majesty placed a hand upon my shoulder. It was a powerful hand, a sovereign's hand. His dark eyes rested upon me. No longer soft and wandering, they were the eyes of a king. He had changed. Had the blood of the slain stag changed him? Was it now coursing through his veins?

Silent under his spell, I stood transfixed. At last I opened my mouth. "Thank you, thank you, sire," I stuttered.

The king nodded and turned to Robert Carr. I made out little of what he said, for his words came rapidly, both in Latin and in French, mixed up with blood-tingling oaths.

He paused, wiped his beard, which he had drooled upon, and gave me a message for my mistress.