“She’ll not see you in private before you’ve been draped over tenterhooks in public,” Gallowglass muttered under his breath. Matthew swore.
We obediently followed our escorts to a grand staircase. It was thronged with people, and the clash of human, floral, and herbal scents was dizzying. Everybody was wearing perfume in an effort to ward off unpleasant odors, but I had to wonder if the result was worse. When the crowd spotted Matthew, there were whispers as the sea of people parted. He was taller than most and gave off the same brutal air as most of the other male aristocrats I’d met. The difference was that Matthew really was lethal—and on some level the warmbloods recognized it.
After passing through a series of three antechambers, each filled to bursting with padded, scented, and jeweled courtiers of both sexes and all ages, we finally arrived at a closed door. There we waited. The whispers around us rose to murmurs. A man shared a joke, and his companions tittered. Matthew’s jaw clenched.
“Why are we waiting?” I said, my voice pitched so that only Matthew and Gallowglass could hear.
“To amuse the queen—and to show the court that I am no more than a servant.”
When at last we were admitted to the royal presence, I was surprised to find that this room, too, was full of people. “Private” was a relative term in the court of Elizabeth. I searched for the queen, but she was nowhere in sight. Fearing that we were going to have to wait again, my heart sank.
“Why is it that for every year I grow older, Matthew Roydon seems to look two years younger?” said a surprisingly jovial voice from the direction of the fireplace. The most lavishly dressed, heavily scented, and thickly painted creatures in the room turned slightly to study us. Their movement revealed Elizabeth, the queen bee seated at the center of the hive. My heart skipped a beat. Here was a legend brought to life.
“I see no great change in you, Your Majesty,” Matthew said, inclining slightly at the waist. “ ‘Semper eadem,’ as the saying goes.” The same words were painted in the banner under the royal crest that ornamented the fireplace. Always the same.
“Even my lord treasurer can manage a deeper bow than that, sir, and he suffers from a rheum.” Black eyes glittered from a mask of powder and rouge. Beneath her sharply hooked nose, the queen compressed her thin lips into a hard line. “And I prefer a different motto these days: Video et taceo.”
I see and am silent. We were in trouble.
Matthew seemed not to notice and straightened as though he were a prince of the realm and not the queen’s spy. With his shoulders thrown back and his head erect, he was easily the tallest man in the room. There were only two people remotely close to him in height: Henry Percy, who was standing against the wall looking miserable, and a long-legged man of about the earl’s age with a mop of curly hair and an insolent expression, who stood at the queen’s elbow.
“Careful,” Burghley murmured as he passed by Matthew, camouflaging his admonishment with regular thumps of his staff. “You called for me, Your Majesty?”
“Spirit and Shadow in the same place. Tell me, Raleigh, does that not violate some dark principle of philosophy?” the queen’s companion drawled out. His friends pointed at Lord Burghley and Matthew and laughed.
“If you had gone to Oxford and not Cambridge, Essex, you would know the answer and be spared the ignominy of having to ask.” Raleigh casually shifted his weight and placed his hand conveniently near the hilt of his sword.
“Now, Robin,” the queen said with an indulgent pat on his elbow. “You know that I do not like it when others use my pet names. Lord Burghley and Master Roydon will forgive you for doing so this time.”
“I take it the lady is your wife, Roydon.” The Earl of Essex turned his brown eyes on me. “We did not know you were wed.”
“Who is this ‘we’?” the queen retorted, giving him a smack this time. “It is no business of yours, my Lord Essex.”
“At least Matt isn’t afraid to be seen around town with her.” Walter stroked his chin. “You’re recently married, too, my lord. Where is your wife on this fine winter’s day?” Here we go, I thought as Walter and Essex jockeyed for position.
“Lady Essex is on Hart Street, in her mother’s house, with the earl’s newborn heir at her side,” Matthew replied on Essex’s behalf. “Congratulations, my lord. When I called on the countess, she told me he was to be named after you.”
“Yes. Robert was baptized yesterday,” Essex said stiffly. He looked a bit alarmed at the thought that Matthew had been around his wife and child.
“He was, my lord.” Matthew gave the earl a truly terrifying smile. “Strange. I did not see you at the ceremony.”
“Enough squabbling!” Elizabeth shouted, angry that the conversation was no longer under her control. She tapped her long fingers on the upholstered arm of her chair. “I gave neither of you permission to wed. You are both ungrateful, grasping wretches. Bring the girl to me.”
Nervous, I smoothed my skirts and took Matthew’s arm. The dozen steps between the queen and me seemed to stretch on to infinity. When at last I reached her side, Walter looked sharply at the floor. I sank into a curtsy and remained there.
“She has manners at least,” Elizabeth conceded. “Raise her up.”
When I met her eyes, I learned that the queen was extremely nearsighted. Even though I was no more than three feet from her, she squinted as though she couldn’t make out my features.
“Hmph,” Elizabeth pronounced when her inspection was through. “Her face is coarse.”
“If you think so, then it is fortunate that you are not wed to her,” Matthew said shortly.
Elizabeth peered at me some more. “There is ink on her fingers.”
I hid the offending digits behind my borrowed fan. The stains from the oak-gall ink were impossible to remove.
“And what fortune am I paying you, Shadow, that your wife can afford such a fan?” Elizabeth’s voice had turned petulant.
“If we are going to discuss Crown finances, perhaps the others might take their leave,” Lord Burghley suggested.
“Oh, very well,” Elizabeth said crossly. “You shall stay, William, and Walter, too.”
“And me,” Essex said.
“Not you, Robin. You must see to the banquet. I wish to be entertained this evening. I am tired of sermonizing and history lessons, as though I were a schoolgirl. No more tales of King John or adventures of a lovelorn shepherdess pining for her shepherd. I want Symons to tumble. If there must be a play, let it be the one with the necromancer and the brass head that divines the future.” Elizabeth rapped her knuckles on the table. “‘Time is, time was, time is past.’ I do love that line.”
Matthew and I exchanged looks.
“I believe the play is called Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay, Your Majesty,” a young woman whispered into her mistress’s ear.
“That’s the one, Bess. See to it, Robin, and you shall sit by me.” The queen was quite an actress herself. She could go from furious to petulant to wheedling without missing a beat.
Somewhat mollified, the Earl of Essex withdrew, but not before shooting Walter a withering stare. Everyone flurried after him. Essex was now the most important person in their proximity, and, like moths to a flame, the other courtiers were eager to share his light. Only Henry seemed reluctant to depart, but he was given no choice. The door closed firmly behind them.
“Did you enjoy your visit to Dr. Dee, Mistress Roydon?” The queen’s voice was sharp. There wasn’t a cajoling note in it now. She was all business.