Which was why Will had told Kit what he had, about Annie and his promise to remain faithful. Because he understood by now that Kit wouldn’t offer where he wasn’t certain of his welcome, and that as long as Kit didn’t offer, Will could pretend he would refuse.
The world was full of other temptations too–pretty, willing goodwives and tiresses and innkeepers–Mistress Poley, who would gladly have him in Kit’s stead, he thought, and Jenet at the inn he often overnighted in along the way to Stratford. But surely he could manage a little continence after fifty years in Hell.
The Queen looked back. “Your heart is divided, Master Shakespeare.”
“As whose is not, Your Highness?” He’d scored. He saw it in the constriction of her mouth, and then the gracious tilt of her head, acknowledging the point. Somehow, the softness in her deep gray eyes was worse than censure or a Oueen’s cold wrath. “And yet I serve my Queen and Her England in all things, ” he concluded, making as pretty a bow as he could with his cane and his hat to contend with.
“In all things?”
“Over love or gold, ” Will said, and understood why he was being made to do this before Kit, and the Mebd. So show the whole world where thy loyalty lies. And I am sorry.It was true, what he said, as far as it went. Over love. Over gold. But not over the destiny of all Christendom.
And he could see from the smile in Elizabeth’s eyes, the rapid flicker of her fan, that she understood. Understood, and approved? Will swallowed despite the lump that now always blocked his throat, and with a flash of the insight that had given him Hamlet,William understoodhis Queen in return. Not the ragged, painted, old woman before him, but the girl who had led a man like Francis Walsingham to beggar himself in her service, when with his dying breath he had known she could never show him gratitude. A woman who had given Kit Marley to the Faeries, when it would have been easier and safer to end his life and let him tumble into an unmarked grave. It doesn’t matter if Essex betrays her. It doesn’t matter what Scottish Mary did or did not know when she was Led to the block. Elizabeth understands that every drop of that blood stains her own hands. She knows. She knows she goes to judgement to face each life she’s wasted. And she’s always known.
This is not a Prince who Loves to kill.
His heart filled up with something vast and terrible at the realization, a shadowy whirl of wings and storm and light, and he knew why men died for Elizabeth. He would have died for Elizabeth himself. And he understood as well that there were things bigger than Elizabeth, bigger than England, for all they were things for which he did not have a name. Faith. God. Liberty.None of it was enough.
Worse things had been done in those names, than in Elizabeth’s.
And yet –
“And what if thou didst think thou hadst choose between the Queen and thy England–no, do not answer, Master Poet. We would liefer know not. Little elf,” Elizabeth said, turning to regard Sir Robert. “Thou hadst a question with regard to Master Shakespeare. Good poet” –she turned back to Will, and now her eyes sparkled – “you may speak now as if privily before ourselves.”
Cecil smiled. He’s going to ask about the Bible,Will thought at first, and then realized – worse, he’s going to ask about the plays. All the plays produced under Oxford’s supervision, and subverting Oxford’s control– Will steeled himself not to dissemble or lie –
The high double doors behind him swung open, and a determined step hushed itself upon the carpet. Raleigh, Murchaud, and Kit moved as one man, coming around the Queens, rapiers hissing into a fence of steel between the women and the door. Will blinked even as he turned, realizing all three men had been armed in the Presence.
“Your Highness, ” the Earl of Oxford said, genuflecting as the door thumped back against its frame, “I must speak to you at once. This player” – a twitch of the head at Will – “is a traitor, and Your Highness is in very grave danger – ”
Will glanced at Oxford and blinked as he understood a number of things. Including the cost of refusing to dance to Oxford’s tune, and that someoneconsidered Will troublesome enough to be cheerfully rid of him. And that it had not been happenstance that Raleigh himself had come so publicly to fetch Will from the press. And what rumors and half‑truths have the Queen and her elves been circulating?
Enough to provoke de Vere into hasty action, for certain–
“Brave gentlemen,” Elizabeth said. “We can be in no danger from so loyal a servant as our noble Oxford.” She accepted Sir Walter’s hand as he stepped back to her side and sheathed his blade. She stood gracefully, making her knight’s gesture look like a courtesy, but Will saw him take the strain of her weight. And saw also the way her ungloved hand tightened on Raleigh’s, until the pallor of her fingers matched the white lead on her brow. Saw the way Kit’s rapier dropped until its point rested on the floor, though neither he nor Murchaud sheathed their swords or retreated behind their Queen. From his angle a little to the side of where Oxford stood, Will saw Cairbre slip a silver flute into his hand, and– good Christ–George Carey, Lord Hunsdon, draw a long‑barreled pistol and conceal it behind Elizabeth’s gilded chair.
I am on the wrong side of that dais.But Kit looked calm, and so did Carey. Sir Robert was actually smiling, one hand resting on the ornate back of Elizabeth’s chair now that she had risen. He leaned forward to speak in her ear, and she smiled. “As you say, little elf.” She gave Will a level, steadying glance before she turned her attention to Oxford. “What is it, sweet boy?”
Oxford looked from Elizabeth to the Mebd, still seated and anonymous behind her rich black veils and the bodies of her servants. “My Queen, I am not certain this is meet to discuss before strangers.”
“Ah,” she said, descending the steps coolly, her hand upraised in Raleigh’s like a courting swan’s neck. “But these are not strangers, my dear Oxford.”
Will watched her come, amazed, as the Earl of Oxford chose his words, seeming to understand that he had made some sort of an error and seeking to understand how grave it was. Close on, Will witnessed the frailty of Elizabeth’s neck, the hollows under her cheekbones, the lines of old pain set deep between her eyes. The scent of rosewater and marjoram surrounded her; he was reminded uncomfortably of Morgan and her eternal scent of rosemary. Elizabeth had nearly died–two years before Will was born – of the smallpox that had also disfigured her dear friend Mary Dudley, the mother of the poet Sir Philip Sidney. The candlelight outlined the scars on Elizabeth’s cheeks through her paint, and still she presented – almost–the illusion of vigor.
“That will suffice, dear Water.” She tugged her hand from Raleigh’s grasp, and she passed before Will and came and laid that same white, white hand on Oxford’s cheek. He smiled at the touch, and the Queen smiled back. “What is it, Edward? ”
“I am here to name this playmaker a traitor to Your Highness,” Oxford said, on a breath that didn’t quite manage the sneer he endeavored for. “I have evidence to present–”