my gaze never straying from Skeres, as he watched in horror. I raised my head and licked the blood from my lips just as Skeres, with a cry, hurled himself at the alley mouth. I dropped the pistol and was on him before he had gone two steps, catching him by the thin, greasy hair. I had scooped Cully’s knife from the ground in passing, and I slashed it against the terrified man’s throat, tearing through vein and artery, windpipe and gullet, with one brutal motion. I coolly stepped out of the way of the fountaining blood, retrieved my pistol, and stood watching in grim satisfaction as Skeres pawed at his throat in a futile attempt to staunch the flow.
“Be thankful, Nick,” I hissed. “Yours is a quick death. The others will not be so fortunate.” There was a protesting gurgle from Skeres, and he died. I turned to Lyly. “Elijah,” I said,” come with me.” At the mouth of the alley I woke the young man, after admonishing him to remember nothing of the night’s encounters.
A few nights later I struck up a fresh acquaintance with the lad, and eventually found him a place with the Lord Chamberlain’s players. There was no inquiry into the death of Nicholas Skeres, so I assumed that his two fellows, upon awaking to find the corpse and the bloody blade, had been at some pains to conceal the deed.
Not long after Skeres’ demise a letter came for me. I took it to Geoffrey to have it read. It proved to be a cunningly written invitation from Robert Cecil, to meet with him in order to discuss matters of “mutual interest and benefit”. Since it was well known that Cecil had a desire to spread his, and England’s, influence onto the continent, it did not take much thought to see what he was carefully not saying—he wanted to recruit an agent to act in his interest in the east. Geoffrey accompanied me to the meeting, much to Cecil’s dismay, though he tried manfully to cover it.
“Prince Geofri, Prince Kryštof, please, be seated. Will you take wine?” He signaled the servant who stood nearby and soon we were comfortably sitting near the fire. Cecil’s glance strayed to my face, trying to read me whenever he thought that neither of us were looking. He was a small, scholarly man, as brilliant in intellect as he was twisted in body, and he must have realized from my lack of expression and the satisfied look on Geoffrey’s face that things had somehow gone awry. That realization was confirmed when Geoffrey pulled the letter from his doublet. “That letter was meant for your brother, your grace,” he said stiffly, and Geoffrey nodded.
“Yes. However my brother Kryštof can neither read nor write, not his own language, nor any other,” Geoffrey answered the implied accusation bluntly, ignoring, as did I, Cecil’s shocked look, and offering no explanation. “He brought this to me that I might read it to him, but, had he been able to read it himself, be assured that he would still have brought it to me. My brother will not be suborned, Lord Robert. If you have matters of ‘interest and benefit’ to him, they are so to me also.”
“Your grace, I meant no offense, and I implore you to take none. I had not wished to trouble your grace with what might after all be but a trifling matter, and I had no idea of your brother’s . . .inability,” Cecil said smoothly, trying to cover his confusion. He was plainly appalled; it had obviously never occurred to him that so elegant a prince as I might be unable to read. It was also obvious that that incapacity, moreover, rendered me useless for any purpose Cecil might have had in mind. He seemed to realize that his thoughts were abroad upon his face, and sighed, schooling his features to impassivity before continuing his business.
We parted amicably enough, but from that night the rumors about us, and about me in particular, took on a decidedly baneful tone. Just as the rumors reached their peak, we were invited by one Lord Haggard to finally be presented at court upon the occasion of the knighting of Thomas Walsingham at his country house, Scadbury, at Chislehurst. We were pleased to accept.
Chapter 7
Walsingham slowly climbed the stairs to his bed, shaking with fatigue and numb from the sleeplessness his impending Knighthood had visited upon him. Thank God that was over, and thank