as she listened.
“Think you that I will slay the eaglet and spare that viper? I know full well where the plotting took place, my lord, as do you!” She smacked her fist into the palm of the other hand, cursing as a sharp ring bezel cut her finger. Gently I took her hand, turning it to examine the wound, and brought it to my lips. I kissed her fingers, letting the coagulants in my spittle staunch the bleeding before she could call for a servant and declare my audience at an end. Her other hand dropped to my hair, seemingly without her volition, and she stroked the soft locks, letting them run through her fingers.
“Where were you, or another such prince, when I was young and had need to marry?” she mused, and I lifted my maimed face to hers.
“There were princes a-plenty, your Majesty, but you had another Robin then, and a truer one,” I said quietly. I recalled the sight of her in Canterbury in my youth, riding in procession, and realized that the vision of the divine Zenocrate in my Tamburlaine had had its birth there, with the beautiful and regal young woman on the white horse, the glitter of her robes less rich than the red-gold hair spilling down her back and floating on the warm Kentish breeze.
“The Earl of Southampton has not the wit to lay such a plot, your Majesty. He is young and a fool, but if you will kill all the fools in England it will be a lonely land indeed.” She stared at me for a second, when a sound behind me drew her eyes away. I rose and turned to face Cecil, who had entered in time to catch my words. He looked careworn and faded, lines beginning to set around his mouth and eyes. Of all the council he was the only one willing to pursue the necessary course in this affair, although he too knew the risk that in her grief the queen would blame him for the death of her erstwhile favorite, and retaliate.
“He is quite correct, your Majesty, and I come to add my voice to his plea for leniency to Southampton. The Earl of Essex is a man sly and vain, shallow and treacherous, yet stalwart and high-spirited withal,” he added quickly at the flash of her eyes. He swallowed, then continued. “If you let him live, even in prison, it will be seen as a sign of your dotage, and no one will be able to drive back the vultures and kites that will descend upon England then. There will be nothing left but dry bones stripped clean of the last scrap of flesh. By letting the minion live, in prison, certainly, and for the rest of his life, you may show your charity and forgiveness at no risk to your crown. This disaffection and rebellion, fomented in the private discontent of a few, is not like the Hydra, to grow a new head when one is lopped off.” Elizabeth glared at the minister for a minute or two, then turned to me once more.
“If the Earl of Southampton will so humble himself as to publicly confess his wrongdoing, admit his unworthiness, and beg my mercy and forgiveness, he will not go to the block. But he will spend the rest of his life in the Tower, and much joy may it bring him.” She turned on her heel and stalked away, stiff as a Nuremberg mechanical doll. Cecil shot a glance in my direction before following her. I watched her go, with Cecil a misshapen shadow at her side, then made my way through the passages and galleries of Whitehall to the stables. It was only later, on my way to the Tower, that I realized that I had had the blood of a queen on my tongue without even tasting it. And that this time she had not returned the ring.
Chapter 31
Hal lounged restlessly in his narrow bed. The chamber he had been given was comfortable enough, well above ground and with windows and a fireplace, but it was still a cell and the sound of the bolt sliding home hit him in the pit of his stomach every time. He had a table and two stools, and Diabolus had even allowed him some books. He didn’t sleep well at night, due to the idleness of his days, and the fears of his future that would come nibbling around the edges of