Witchrise (27 page)

‘I asked you once if you had any dealings with the Devil,’ de Pero remarked, getting to his feet. ‘Now I must ask you again, Meg Lytton, for it is my duty as Inquisitor to know the hidden truth of things. Are those who have suspected you of evil practices correct?’

‘No, sir,’ I muttered.

‘Look at me, girl! Are you a witch, and in thrall to the Devil?’

My hair had fallen forward to hide my face. I lifted my head now and stared at him. ‘No, sir,’ I repeated coldly.

‘Señor,’ Elizabeth said with dangerous quietness, ‘I must ask you to seek permission of Her Majesty the Queen if you wish to interrogate my servants further. I am sure my sister would not have sent you here on such an unpleasant mission without first informing me in writing of your intent.’

Miguel de Pero looked at her in silence, a muscle twitching in his cheek. Then he forced his thin lips into a smile. ‘
Muy bien
,’ he murmured, and bowed. ‘Forgive me if I was too zealous, my lady. I am so used to finding guilt in those I question, it is sometimes hard to accept innocence. I beg your pardon for this intrusion.’ His head swung sharply as footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I thought there was a note of relief in his voice. ‘Ah, here is Señor de Castillo now. We shall be on our way at once, my lady, and trouble you no more.’

Alejandro did not look at me as he descended the stairs. His beautiful dark eyes were shuttered, long eyelashes hiding their light, his face grim, the skin drawn taut over his cheekbones. It hurt to look on him for the last time, yet I was unable to drag my gaze away from his face, feeding my hunger, memorizing every graceful line of his body before he disappeared from my life for good.

He was dressed for travelling, in his most sombre black doublet and hose, cloak thrown back to reveal the ornate Spanish sword belted about his waist. There was no sign of the silver crucifix that had always hung about his neck as long as I had known him.

My breath almost stopped. Yes, I could see the Spanish nobleman in him now. It was quite plain to me, looking at Alejandro de Castillo, that he was high-born, and far above a commoner like me.

Then Alejandro’s head turned, seeking me out, and our eyes met at last. I took a step back, physically recoiling from what I saw there. There was a darkness in his face that I had never seen before, his whole being possessed by shadow. Devoured by it, almost.

Still Alejandro did not speak to me. ‘My lady Elizabeth,’ he murmured, and sank onto one knee before the princess.

She gave him her slender white-fingered hand to kiss, and his dark head bent over it.

‘Forgive me for taking my leave so abruptly, my lady,’ he said. ‘But my father demands that I return home to Spain.’

‘And one must always bow to a father’s demands,’ Elizabeth murmured.

I felt there was a note of irony behind her words. But then her father had been King Henry, and a greater tyrant I could not envisage.

‘Will you return to us in due course, señor?’ the princess asked, gesturing him to rise.

Alejandro stood, his face still averted from me. ‘I fear that will prove impossible, my lady.’

She frowned, looking from him to me in obvious surprise. Elizabeth had never condoned our relationship, nor approved of it. She had even tried to prevent us from becoming too close under her roof, such was her sense of duty to her women. But she was no doubt taken aback by this sudden departure.

‘Must your business in Spain take so long to conclude?’

‘Indeed it must, my lady.’ De Pero stepped forward before Alejandro could answer, dropping a hand on his shoulder as though to congratulate him. ‘Young de Castillo here has finally agreed to take up his place at the Spanish court by his father’s side. Before that though, Alejandro is to return home for his marriage. It was all arranged months ago.’

Marriage? Arranged months ago?

My heart withered and died.

De Pero’s laugh was an obscene jeering that echoed about the hall; it made me feel sick.

‘I am quite envious of de Castillo’s luck in procuring her father’s agreement to this union,’ he added. ‘For I have seen the young lady myself, back in Spain, and she is most beautiful. She will make Alejandro an excellent wife.’

I stared at Alejandro’s averted profile, willing him to deny this lie, to give me a sign that his return to Spain was in some way being forced upon him.

But he made no sign, and his head did not turn.

For the next few minutes, as Alejandro courteously took his leave of the Lady Elizabeth and her household, embracing William and a tearful Alice, even inconceivably shaking hands with Richard, I stood motionless and unspeaking in the Great Hall, my body numb, my face cold.

At last it was my turn.

‘Meg,’ he began hoarsely, then stopped, staring at me as though he had forgotten how to say goodbye.

A terrible silence descended between us, where I could hear nothing but the painful lurch of my heart and the rasp of my own breath. I said nothing, looking at a point on his black doublet mid-way between his chest and his chin, my heart frozen inside the icy hell that had been building around it since de Pero’s arrival.

What was there to say, after all?

Alejandro suddenly bowed his dark head, not looking at me again, his farewell a husky, ‘Go with God.’

Then he was gone, bustled away to the waiting horsemen by Miguel de Pero, whose look told me he knew perfectly well what agonies I was suffering.

For several days after Alejandro had left, I wanted nothing more than to die. I became a coward. I begged Alice to tell the princess I was sick. I spent all my waking hours alone in the dark, curled up in my nightgown, refusing food, my hair oily and unkempt, my body shivering.

At last the Lady Elizabeth came to see me, dismissing Alice and her women to speak with me alone.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded coldly.

I sat up weakly, combing down my hair with my fingers. ‘Forgive me, my lady. I do not understand.’

‘Your name, girl?’

‘M . . . Meg Lytton,’ I stammered, frowning.

‘Good. Now do not forget it again.’ She lowered her voice. ‘The full moon approaches. This woman Dent holds against her will. Is she indeed a seeress?’

‘So Mistress Goodwife said.’

I saw a restless excitement in her face. I had seen it there before, and always it presaged danger.

‘I may be Queen of England one day,’ she said softly, ‘and with a witch by my side, I could reign over this turbulent land for many years in peace. Yes, there would be danger in such an association, but how much stronger would I be with both a witch and a seer in my household?

‘But if a woman wants power, Meg,’ she continued, ‘there can be no place in her heart for this weakness we call love. Not in a world where man still holds sway.’ Her eyes darkened. ‘My sister may be Queen, but she has given her power away to her husband Philip. By marrying, she weakened herself. To yield to a man, to become obedient to him, a mere possession . . . that is a weakness I cannot afford, not if I would be Queen, and stay Queen.’

There was bitter hurt in her voice as she added, ‘Besides, Robert is already married and can never be mine. Do not think this decision has not given me many nights of pain and anguish. But if I am to be Queen, and a queen worthy of this great land of ours, I must play by rules so hard they would break another woman’s heart.’

Gently she touched my shoulder, her gaze sympathetic. It struck me that she had looked at Alejandro in the same way when he knelt before her in the Great Hall, begging her forgiveness for leaving.

‘Señor de Castillo has gone back to Spain. I know you and he still had an understanding, even though I asked you to sever that connection, and that his absence must be painful. But it is time to put away this long face and rise. Do what you were born to do, Meg. Unless you believe your case to be crueller than that of the seeress Marcus Dent holds captive,’ Elizabeth murmured, watching me, ‘and whose salvation may yet depend on you alone.

‘Besides,’ she said, pausing at the door, ‘I have decided to ride with you to London. I have a plan. Now get up and wash yourself, girl. You look like a beggar maid.’

After the princess had left my room, I lay in shocked silence for a while, thinking over what she had said.

Then I stumbled out of bed and jerked open the wooden shutters to let in the light. The room flooded with sunshine, seeming to mock my long misery. Dazzled, I poured a little chilly water from the pitcher into the wash bowl and splashed my tears away with it.

Meg Lytton, I told myself, staring down at my hands as I dipped them in the bowl and watched my reflection shiver. That is my name. That is who I am.

And Meg Lytton is a witch.

When the Lady Elizabeth made up her mind to do a thing, it was done swiftly and with great style. No moonlit ride cross-country, as we had planned amongst ourselves, but a bold cavalcade of horses leaving Hatfield House in full daylight, waved off by Kat Ashley and the servants, with sturdy-looking outriders hired from neighbouring villages, and William and Richard fully armed in case of attack by highway robbers. Elizabeth brought both Blanche and Alice along to attend her, and insisted the ladies all rode sidesaddle, which slowed our pace. But it was still early on our second day of riding when we reached the outskirts of London, having stopped at a roadside inn the night before.

Elizabeth’s plan was to arrive unannounced at the Palace of Whitehall, where she believed the Queen to be in residence. There she would throw herself on her sister’s mercy, claiming an illness at Hatfield which had forced her to flee the country, bringing almost all her household with her.

It was a bold plan, and terrifying. For if the Queen proved to be angry with her sister for arriving without warning, no one could safely predict what would happen next.

‘Mary suggested in her letter that I visit her this autumn for a state occasion,’ Elizabeth had insisted, trying to reassure Blanche, who was convinced we would end our journey in the Tower of London. ‘Clearly my sister hopes for another reconciliation after our bitter parting last year. Her Majesty may be surprised to see me earlier than invited, but when she hears of my sorrows, I am sure we will be made welcome. All of us.’

The next part of her plan was less clear. But I soon discovered it involved the princess being able to spend time with Master Robert Dudley. Who just happened to be back at court again. Without his wife.

I eyed her speculatively when this fact was revealed, but Elizabeth did not even blush.

‘I have been thinking of your strange divination, Meg, the words the mandragora man whispered in your ear. That I would marry
no man
.’ She raised her frank eyes to mine. ‘If virginity will keep England in my hands, I am at peace with my destiny. But that does not mean I must never see Robert Dudley again, nor speak with that gentleman, nor . . . nor let him kiss my hand. His loyalty may yet prove useful. To me, and to England.’

I said nothing, for it was not for me to interpret the obscure whisperings of the mandragora root.

‘It is arranged that once I am settled at my sister’s palace, we will all meet with John Dee in London at a discreet lodging place owned by one of his friends,’ Elizabeth continued briskly, seemingly relieved that I had not challenged her decision – as though I would ever dare. ‘There we shall discuss how best to remove the seeress from her prison.’

Entering the narrow gates of the city of London was an unsettling experience. Strangers jostled us in the sunlit streets around the gate, frightening the horses: women and children selling their wares in shrill voices, men staring after us as though they had never seen a retinue so fine before, beggars kneeling in the dirt or leaning against the filthy walls. An open ditch ran down one of the larger streets, stinking like a midden, clouds of tiny black flies dancing above it.

I covered my mouth and nose with my mantle, and rode past as swiftly as I could, given the unrelenting crowds and traffic of the city.

We came to a crossroads marked with a broad-trunked oak, mossed with age, its leafy crown providing shade for the beggars beneath, some of them terribly deformed and crying out for bread. Horrified, I fumbled at my pouch and tossed a few coins to the beggars as we waited for a cart to clear the crossroads.

After that we turned onto a narrow cobbled street, heading downhill towards the river. I was weary by the time we reached the Palace of Whitehall, standing flagged and turreted along the river bank, with towering walls that blocked out the sun as our horses clattered through the cobbled and well-guarded entrance.

I was a little apprehensive as the pikes flashed down to block our way. But then the captain of the guard recognized the princess, and a shout went up among his men.

The captain dropped to one knee on the cobbles and bent his helmeted head. Elizabeth, gracious and smiling, bid him rise and send for an escort, for she had come to visit the Queen, her sister.

A moment later, everyone in the narrow courtyard seemed to be kneeling, and cheers echoed about the high walls as we rode slowly forward.

‘Long live the Lady Elizabeth!’ one man shouted, and was soon joined by other voices.

A serving woman near the palace entrance crossed herself, gazing up with admiration at Elizabeth’s pale face and long, unbound hair, glinting reddish-gold in the sunlight. ‘May God bless you, Princess Elizabeth!’ she called out, and was rewarded with a smile.

The warmth in their voices reassured me that, even if her sister was unhappy to see Elizabeth arriving at court uninvited, she could hardly send her away again without incurring the wrath of her people. For it was clear that they loved Elizabeth. No doubt beside the dark-featured, often miserable Catholic queen who had married a Spaniard and brought the bonfires of the Inquisition to our shores, this young Tudor princess looked like an angel.

Inside the palace, her reception was less warm. The steward who led us, with a disapproving expression, towards chambers fit for a princess and her entourage explained that there had been no warning of her visit, and therefore the bedchambers would not be ready for habitation for several hours. But we could wait in an antechamber while the Queen was informed of her arrival. Elizabeth, courteous as ever, thanked the man as though he had handed her the keys to the palace itself, and said she would be content with whatever was available.