do something about the dreams, however, and I will, if you will trust me. Look at me,” I added, turning his wet face towards mine.
Chapter 25
Hal paced by the fire, his face alight with excitement as he told me of the Irish campaign, his long fingers moving as if they plucked his words from the air. Essex had appointed him his Master of Horse, much to the displeasure of the Queen, who, although she had eventually agreed to his release from prison, still had little use for the handsome earl.
He told of the mud and the cold, the murky chambers that managed to keep the smoke trapped inside despite the roaring drafts that pierced through the heaviest clothing, and the constant fear when venturing out that every hummock would suddenly sprout a berserk kern bent on murder. Many was the time that the entourage would arrive at a destination with men missing, or dead in the saddle. It was enough to make one believe in the Sidhe, he said and his voice faltered. He flashed a bright smile at me, realizing that he had completely lost the thread of his narrative. “But tell me, will you return to the court?”
“I think not,” I answered, smiling. “It is somewhat—diabolic, at the moment.” Hal looked blank for a second, then laughed heartily at my joking reference to Cecil’s ascendancy. Even Libby broke off the pretty air she played, laughing as she stood and laid the lute aside.
“I must take my leave, your grace,” she curtsied to me, and I stood, catching her hand, pressing a brief kiss into the palm.
“Then you must send us more candles, for you take the better part of our light away,” I said, smiling wryly at the awkwardness of the compliment; I had never regained my facility with words. She was ravishing, this girl that Hal had embraced prison for, the sort of beauty that would never fade into a plain old age. She smiled again and Hal caught her into a swift embrace before she skipped from the room. “She is beautiful, Hal, and well worth the winning at whatever cost. But tell me now of Essex. What devil possessed him to behave so?” Hal picked at the lace bordering his cuff, and his expression clouded.
“You heard about his return from Ireland, then?” he said tonelessly, and I nodded. Essex, after disobeying his orders from the council at every turn, became convinced that his character was being undermined in his absence, and had concluded a hasty and illicit truce with Tyrone then returned to England without permission. Worse, he had barged his way into the Queen’s bedchamber while she was undressed. I shuddered, thinking of that confrontation. She was an old woman, but a vain one, who had not seen a mirror for twenty years or more, burying her age under the layers of paint, the wigs, cloth of gold, priceless lace, and jewels enough to furnish a dragon’s hoard. When he beheld what she had been hiding Essex’s expression must have been mirror enough to shatter every illusion that the old woman had so carefully built. She would never forgive him that, I knew, and suspected that the earl did, as well. He had been ill for the better part of the year that had passed since his precipitate return from Ireland, and the return to favor for which he prayed had never come. Essex had remained in exile from the court, if not actually still detained, and it galled him, wearing away what little prudence he may have possessed. He had begun to flaunt his precipitate knowledge of the Queen’s person, to vilify her publicly, joking rudely about her twisted carcass and balding head. He was looking to die, I thought, daring the woman who had doted on him to strike at him now. He was like a sulky child crying “I don’t care!”, and unable to convince anyone, least of all himself, that it was true.
“He would do well to remember who his mother is,” I muttered, thinking of the beautiful Lettice Knollys, the “she-wolf ” Elizabeth called her, who had enticed her sweet Robin Dudley away. That had effectively ended the countess’s career at court—the Queen possessed the Tudor vindictiveness in full measure. Hal nodded, and leaned towards me, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“You see that it can’t continue, don’t you, Kit? Diabolus rules in England now, and is moving to gather up the reins of the Scottish court as