In which another visit is made to Apethorpe, the Queen has a question, and Edmund does not have a good time.
Early July into August, 1566
Summer that year was rather cool; the winds from St. George's Channel blew across Wales and chilled the Midlands. Once again Lord Walter Mildmay invited the Queen to visit Apethorpe as she made her summer progression; once again Blackadder rather than Dudley was asked to join her retinue; once again Baldrick was included as Blackadder's attendant. The road was in considerable need of repair. As they bounced along in the second carriage, Melchett protested mildly to Blackadder that he thought it was surely a hardship on her Majesty.
"Really, couldn't Mildmay have waited until we were farther north?" Melchett shifted uncomfortably on his seat.
"Ah, you're just getting soft in your elder age," Blackadder answered.
"Hah! As truth would have it, I have always been soft. I just feel it more now."
There was a small snort of laughter from Baldrick, but Melchett's man maintained a straight face. Not much joy there, Blackadder thought. But then, the man was newly in Melchett's service; perhaps he had not yet learned that, as Melchett was fond of saying, laughter doeth good as a medicine.
They rode on in companionable silence until the first stop for water and a light meal. The breeze coming from the southwest was brisk and they elected to eat in the relative shelter of their carriages rather than on cloths spread on the ground, which would hardly have been pleasurable.
"By the by," Melchett intoned around a bite of cold beef, "I understand the Queen has a question she wishes to ask of you, Blackadder."
"Indeed?" Blackadder wondered what the question might be. "Why didn't she just ask me instead of telling you?" The ways of women were a mystery to Blackadder, but the ways of this particular woman belonged to an order of mystery far beyond his comprehension.
"I believe she is waiting for the right moment," Melchett responded sagely.
Blackadder grunted and looked out the window at the countryside moving past, catching a glimpse of one of the outriders through the trees. They had a more demanding job this trip, as the caravan was sufficiently longer, including several Lords and Ladies and their servants as well. He couldn't begin to remember all their names. Frankly, he didn't care who they were. They could all circle the Queen as much as they liked, so long as he remained her favorite.
He was pleased to see Sir Walter and his wife waiting for them as the carriages pulled into the circular drive. What he had seen and heard of the man at their first visit and in the time since had helped him to form the opinion that Mildmay was a genuinely good man. He hoped to further his acquaintance with Sir Walter, but was slightly confused how that might come about. Strictly speaking, he had been asked to accompany the Queen as her acting Master of Horse. Not so strictly speaking, he was the Queen's favorite and enjoyed certain privileges others of his rank did not. And not speaking at all, he was the Queen's man—her property, if one took seriously her acceptance of his person as a gift six years ago. Still, perhaps Mildmay would speak to him man to man without regard for rank.
Baldrick unpacked for him, placing his other set of black hose, doublet, and scarlet shirt inside the wardrobe. After he had got a fire going to take the chill out of the room, he retired to the servant's quarters, leaving Blackadder to leaf through the pages of an old manuscript by the flickering light of several candles.
(Blackadder's POV)
Supper the following night was a sumptuous affair. There were five courses, and I remember a haunch of venison which had been roasted on a spit, along with hares in gravy, breasts of doves gently turned in butter, trouts baked in cream, pastries of various shapes with meat or dried fruit filling, slabs of cheese and freshly baked light bread, a haunch of veal, tiny crabs cooked in water from the ocean, cups of soup made of seasoned pork and cloves, and finally some spiced wines and ale.
As was custom, the Queen, her closest advisor, her favorite, and the Mildmays as guests supped in a separate room while the rest of the courtiers, lords and ladies, supped in the main hall. With us in the chamber were Baldrick, Melchett's new man, and Nursie. Baldrick stood behind my chair, Nursie sat rather at the foot of the table, and Melchett's new man—whose name I never did catch—stood to one side of Melchett and had an odd habit of serving not only Melchett but others as well.
"I believe, Majesty, I heard something about a question you wanted to ask me."
Elizabeth feigned irritation. "Edmund! What poor manners. Lord and Lady Mildmay will think you are quite rude." She turned to Mary Mildmay and complemented her on the hares in gravy, then turned back to me and smiled brightly. "I'll ask you the question a little later, Edmund." The subject was closed, but my curiousity had my mind speculating in a thousand different directions. Did it have to do with money? Or perhaps land? Or—oh, who knew. Knowing her, it could be anything from information on my "monkey" to wanting to know why I didn't wear clothes in any other color than black and red. Although the second would have been easier to answer than the first. It was quite simple. I had no money for another suit of clothes.
Baldrick leaned over from time to time and made comments only I could hear. I hoped. Elizabeth's hearing was really quite keen, and if she did hear our occasional exchanges, she let no indication cross her face.
"Have you seen that man of Melchett's before?"
"Um—" I swallowed a bite of roast venison. "Nope. Can't say I have."
"I'm not sure I like him, my lord."
"Yes, he probably doesn't like you, either. Have you eaten? You should go to the servant's hall and get a plate."
"No." A pause. "I think I'll stay here."
There was on the table a dish of peaches simmered in wine and cinnamon, liberally sprinkled with pomegranate seeds, that I wanted to try.
"Baldrick, could you get me the peaches?"
Before Baldrick could move, Melchett's man picked up the bowl and leaned over the table toward me. Before I could reach out for the bowl, Baldrick quickly snatched at it and the collision of their hands tipped the bowl into my plate and sent peaches cascading across my chest and into my lap.
I stood, dripping peaches, angry at Baldrick and embarrassed for myself and the Queen, but maintained my composure.
"It's all right, I was in need of a change anyway." I turned to Elizabeth, who was doing her best not to laugh. "If you'll excuse me, majesty."
"Yes, Edmund, go and change. You'll be icky and sticky if you don't. When you come back, we'll have wine."
"Really, Baldrick, you couldn't have been any clumsier, could you?" I wet a cloth in the bowl of water in my room and wiped peach juices off my hands while he pulled my other set of clothes from the wardrobe.
"I'm sorry, my lord. It looked like he put something into the peaches as he was handing them to you."
"Like what, Baldrick? A buxom young woman, perhaps? A bag of gold? I could use both about now, actually." I threw down my soiled doublet and shirt and stood shivering in my breeches and hose. "You really are an idiot." What I really said was something like, "Thou art truly a mammering, iron-witted fool", but either way it was cruel and undeserved. I stripped the rest of the way and washed my legs where the peach juices had soaked through my hose. Baldrick was quiet as he helped me dress—clean linen underclothes, a new shirt and sleeves with points neatly tied, hose, understated codpiece with belt, breeches, a small ruff, doublet with slashes that he carefully pulled the fabric of the shirt sleeves through, and my boots which would have to do until my indoor shoes could be washed and dried.
By the time I returned to the chamber, the mess had been cleaned up and a new plate and cup were at my place. Suppers then were not the hurried affairs of today. If it were a feast, we might eat on and off all day. A special supper in honor of the Queen lasted several hours at least. This was a good thing; the table was still covered with food at my return. I cut another slice of venison and took a trout, and joined in the friendly banter. Baldrick stood silently behind me the entire time.
The following day, Elizabeth hunted with Sir Walter, and I as her acting Master of Horse had to make sure her mount was saddled and bridled correctly and that he was not likely to throw a shoe. I rode behind her in case her horse misstepped or was otherwise injured. The game this day was a stag. Sir Walter's huntsman, a fellow named William, led the hunt and handled the hounds. After several hours, a stag was caught by the dogs and his escape cut off, so that he had nowhere to turn but must fight the dogs with razor-sharp hooves and his antlers. Bolts from several bows flew and soon the stag was down; the dogs called away, and a final shot made sure the stag was dead.
William blew the mort and we dismounted and approached cautiously; wounded deer could kill a man quite easily. But the animal had breathed its last, and William, still kneeling next to it, drew his knife and handed it hilt first to Elizabeth, who, leaning over, stabbed the stag as if she herself were killing it. "This stag shall go to the few poor around Apethorpe," she said, handing the bloodied knife back to the huntsman. "We had our feast yesterday, let them feast on the morrow."
Elizabeth loved to hunt, and now I was hunting for Elizabeth, but I was distracted. My curiosity had been piqued to the utmost, and I was looking for her to ask her what the question was. Why couldn't she simply have asked me days ago? But that was her way, to tease and sometimes even to seem to bully, though only when warranted. It had been six years since our last visit to Apethorpe, and in that time Sir Walter had made a few improvements, so that now I was as lost as I had been the first time I'd ranged these corridors and halls. She wasn't in her rooms.
Perhaps she was with Melchett? I walked boldly into his chamber, a greeting ready on my lips, but neither of them were there. Of course, I had to inspect the room—I was no less curious then than in my youth. In doing so I happened to see two parchments, one new and the other clearly written over and wrinkled, on Melchett's escritoire. The quill and a stoppered bottle of ink sat above the parchments. The new parchment was covered in Melchett's formal handwriting; the older, much-used one in Elizabeth's, but her script was spidery and not at all neat, as though it had been written in haste. Hands behind my back so as not to disturb anything, I leaned over the desk and began to read hers. I peered closely, read a few lines, and then straightened quickly. Shaking my head, I leaned over the other parchment which was written in Melchett's bold strokes.
"Was I not born in the realm? Were my parents born in any foreign country? Is not my kingdom here? Whom have I oppressed? Whom have I enriched to other's harm? What turmoil have I made in this commonwealth that I should be suspected to have no regard to the same? How have I governed since my reign? I will be tried by envy itself. I need not to use many words, for my deeds do try me.
'Well, the matter whereof they would have made their petition (as I am informed) consisteth in two points: in my marriage, and in the limitations of the succession of the crown, wherein my marriage was first placed, as for manners' sake. I did send them answer by my council, I would marry (although of mine own disposition I was not inclined thereunto) but that was not accepted nor credited, although spoken by their Prince.
'I will never break the word of a prince spoken in a public place, for my honour's sake. And therefore I say again, I will marry as soon as I can conveniently, if God take not him away with whom I mind to marry, or myself, or else some other great let happen. I can say no more except the party were present. And I hope to have children, otherwise I would never marry. A strange order of petitioners that will make a request and cannot be otherwise assured but by the prince's word, and yet will not believe it when it is spoken.
'The second point was for the limitation of the succession of the crown, wherein was nothing said for my safety, but only for themselves. A strange thing that the foot should direct the head in so weighty a cause—"
The writing stopped there. I could see why Melchett was re-writing her response to Parliament's query before it was sent back. It seemed he had been interrupted in the middle of his work. Perhaps that was a good thing. Perhaps Dudley would be overcome with the bloody flux before we returned to London. Meanwhile, I needed to find the Queen.
Baldrick caught me in the corridor. "Did you not get the summons, my lord?"
"If I had gotten a summons, Baldrick, I would be responding to it."
"Oh. All right. Are you responding to it?"
"I don't know. What is the summons?"
"The Queen is in the Little Chamber receiving visitors and your presence is requested."
I reversed my course and headed back the way I had come. "In that case yes, I am responding to the summons."
"I'll just be in my room, then," Baldrick called after me.
Again a request. But in my case it was a command, as I was the Queen's man. I believe I have remarked before that if she had commanded me to lay my neck upon the block, I would have had to do so.
Blackadder pulled his cloak tighter about himself as he rushed down the corridor of Apethorpe Hall to the Little Chamber. He had long since given up wondering why she wanted him with her at various times. At any time a messenger could come with Elizabeth's command to attend her; he listened as she received visits from heads of state, sat quietly while she answered correspondence, inspected the kitchens and laundry with her (that had been an enlightening experience), even stood by while she washed the feet of poor women on Maundy Thursday. No doubt today he would spend several hours standing with Melchett while Elizabeth patiently received her subjects and the gifts they might bring. He never stopped being amazed at the good grace with which she accepted the offerings people brought, especially at times like this, when she was not at one of her royal residences. The diverse items were inspected and then distributed amongst her servants or donated to the poor when they returned to Whitehall.
Upon entering the Little Chamber, he was pleased to note a roaring fire burning in the fireplace. The relative warmth was a welcome change from his own chilly room. Elizabeth was already seated in a richly carved high-back chair on the platform, backlit by the two windows to either side of her. He tread lightly on the parquet floor, glad he wasn't in boots and spurs, and knelt before her.
"Majesty."
"Edmund."
"Melchett." He nodded at her bear-like advisor.
"Blackadder."
"Stand next to Melchy, Edmund." He stepped up onto the platform and moved to Melchett's right. Nursie was already at Elizabeth's left, sewing as always on some unidentifiable garment. Leaning forward slightly, he tried to be surreptitious as he glanced at the folds of fabric in Nursie's hands.
"Petticoat, Edmund. Now do stand up straight."
He was surprised to feel the warmth of a blush. Was it one of her petticoats he had just seen?
"Can't control it, can you?" Melchett whispered quietly.
"Don't know what you're talking about." Blackadder whispered back.
"Oh, yes, you do. Don't think I can't see it."
Blackadder rolled his eyes. " 'It' what?"
"Boys . . ." Elizabeth's voice cut into their back-and-forth. "Behave."
"I want to know what the question is," Blackadder murmured under his breath.
The double doors opened and a guard stood to either side while the first of the petitioners entered. As was his custom while in attendance, his mind wandered as he looked around the room. The tapestries on the walls were Flemish, and quite costly. Hangers-on who had journeyed north with the Queen lined the walls but avoided the tapestries, knowing full well their value. The one nearest the door opposite the platform was of some sort of mythical scene, women amongst trees gathering flowers and filling water jars. The colors were rich, particularly the blues and reds. A fellow resembling Melchett's man stood a little too near that one, and Blackadder imagined the fellow leaning on the tapestry, his weight pulling it from the wall, only to be completely covered by the heavy hanging.
"Come on, Blackie, pay attention!" Elizabeth's raised voice jerked Blackadder from his reverie. She was handing a parcel to Nursie, who noted it in a ledger before placing it on an ever-increasing pile of stuff.
"Say it's wonderful," whispered Melchett.
"And I heard that as well, Melchy—if I can hear the grass grow, I can hear you two."
"Erm, yes. Sorry, madam." Blackadder did his best to look interested until the audience was over, then stretched surreptitiously as the last of the petitioners filed out of the room. His eye lit again upon the tapestry opposite the platform, and it seemed to his tired eyes as if the pool of water the maidens were drawing from was rippling. He shook his head and turned to Melchett, who was stretching his own back.
"Thank God that's over," he said. Something caught the corner of his eye and he turned again toward the far wall. And then he saw it, in spite of the darkening day and the dim light which might confuse anyone. A hand holding a pistol had come from behind the arras.
He had no time to warn Melchett, no time to say a word, but quickly leaped upon the startled Queen and covered her with his body.
Elizabeth was quite taken aback. One did not simply jump upon one's Sovereign. She inhaled deeply in preparation for yelling at Edmund to get off her, but never had the opportunity. A shot rang out, and she and Edmund both startled at the loud crack as though lightning had struck the center of the room with accompanying close thunder. Her favorite did not move, merely put his head down and said into her ear, "Don't move, Majesty."
She sat very still. Melchett was yelling, and she could hear the shouts of guards and their running footsteps. The commotion was huge, and she could see none of it until Edmund rested his head on her shoulder. She could feel his hair against her cheek and smell roses and citrus. She had never been so close to him except for one other time. It was when he'd had the birthday bash and invited his aunt and uncle. Everyone had too much to drink, including—if she were honest—the Queen of the realm. Edmund had not begun singing about the little pixies yet, and she could still remember leaning back against the wall and Edmund coming round the corner and finding himself face to face with her. His eyes had gone all soft and he'd leaned forward and kissed her. She'd kissed him right back, and Heaven knows where it might have gone from there if Melchett hadn't intervened and handed Edmund another pitcher of ale. After that, the singing had begun in earnest.
And now here he was, actually getting rather heavy. The guards came in to report the man who fired the shot had gotten away in the confusion and all they had found was his pistola. She looked over Blackadder's shoulder at them and tried to push him off.
"Ned!"
Then Melchett was lifting Edmund off her. She sat up as Melchett lowered him to the floor, where he lie working for air. Melchett leaned over Blackadder and called his name. Edmund reached up and his hand hit Melchett's shoulder. As he grabbed a fistful of robe and pulled Melchettt closer, Melchett noticed his eyes weren't really focussed on anything. Melchett had lived a very narrow life, having been in or very near the church most of his years, but he could see Blackadder was possibly dying.
Elizabeth stood and took in the scene: Melchett being pulled close by Edmund, who coughed wetly and then swallowed blood. It slowly entered her mind that he had been shot, that he had taken the ball meant for her. Suddenly all the sound and light in the room came to a point and with a snap she began shouting.
"Where is a runner?" Lords and ladies, all backed away against the walls, stood looking at each other like dumb sheep. "You!" She pointed at one of the guards who had brought her the pistola. "Fetch Marbeck immediately!" The guard tore out of the room. Sir Walter, who had left earlier, came back and approached sad-faced to stand to one side.
Melchett saw Blackadder's eyes focus on his. Blackadder licked his lips. "Queen," he whispered.
"Yes, she's here," Melchett said quietly.
"Safe?"
"Very much so. You've saved her life, Blackadder."
Blackadder managed a smile and a faint "Ah." His hand dropped from Melchett's shoulder and his head lolled to one side. He coughed again, flecking the inlaid floor with blood as his eyes began to roll back in his head.
Melchett felt sadder than ever. He lifted his eyes to the Queen. "Madam, I fear—"
"Shut it, Melchy! I won't hear it!"
At that moment, Marbeck entered carrying a large leather bag. He strode directly to Blackadder and knelt beside him, addressing the Queen briefly as he did so.
"Majesty. Melchett, you're going to help me."
"Oh, but I—"
"You told me once you consider Blackadder your friend, did you not?"
"Well, yes, but I—"
"Don't worry, Melchett, I'm not going to ask you to do surgery. Help me roll him over."
The two men settled Blackadder on his stomach ad Melchett began to feel ill at the sight of all the blood.
"Remove your outer robes and cover his legs. A big fellow like you afraid of blood? Don't look, then."
The physician reached into the satchel he'd brought and pulled out, to everyone's surprise, a pair of scissors. "Majesty, I'll need your cushion. Yours too, Mistress Ashley." He quickly cut Blackadder's doublet and red silk shirt from waist to shoulder on both sides.
"Melchett, I'm going to lift Lord Blackadder, if you would be so kind as to place the cushions under his chest and head. Thank you."
Carefully Melchett did as he was told, then looked back to see Marbeck pull up the fabric of the doublet and shirt to reveal the wound. Thick blood oozed from the damaged flesh as the physician deftly cut the blood-soaked fabrics off at Blackadder's shoulders.
Melchett couldn't tear his eyes away from the blood and what the physician was doing. Far from feeling faint as he initially did, he swallowed and leaned forward.
"Um, anything else I can do?"
"Yes . . . I need linen cloths boiled in water, please, Nursie. Also a clean board, two or three onions from the kitchen—make certain they have no mold—and a very sharp knife."
As he helped Marbeck tend to Blackadder, Melchett was vaguely aware of Elizabeth commanding the Gentleman Usher and the other ushers to dismiss the Court. Soon the large room was still. Besides themselves, Elizabeth and Nursie were the only others to witness what happened. While Marbeck worked, he kept up a quiet stream of explanation, Melchett suspected to help calm him and the women.
"Giovanni da Vigo. Ever hear of him? He was surgeon to Pope Julius the Second, and he said wounds of this sort should be treated by cauterizing with hot oil. Now Paré, under whom I trained, said the same thing but to first remove the ball and then clean the wound with a paste of pounded raw onion."
Marbeck reached into his bag again and pulled out a very small set of tongs and set about digging into the wound in Blackadder's back. For what seemed to be much too long, the searching continued until the physician grunted with satisfaction and slowly pulled out the tongs, bringing with them the ball that had been fired from the pistola. Melchett stared; the ball looked easily to be as big around as his forefinger at the tip.
"I, however, disagree with da Vigo and my old teacher. I prefer to first clean the wound, then . . . ah, here is Mistress Ashley with what I need now." Marbeck quickly skinned the onions and then set about chopping them very finely on the board. With the tongs he pulled one of the clothes out of the kettle and shook the excess water out of it. He laid it on the board and put half the onion into it, then into a small bowl from his bag—Melchett wondered what else might be found in that capacious satchel—Marbeck squeezed all the juice he could get out of that portion of chopped onion. He pulled a mortal and pestle from his bag and handed them to Nursie.
"If you would be so kind as to grind the rest of the onion into a paste?"
"Now . . ." Melchett had to look away finally as Marbeck began to pull bits of shattered bone and destroyed flesh from the wound. A few minutes later, Marbeck: "I will need your help here, Melchett." He handed Melchett a pair of very small pincers. "When I tell you to grab the vessel, take hold carefully." The blood vessels were slippery and Melchett found himself cursing when he lost one Marbeck had just pulled out of the wound for him. It slithered back into the bloody mess and the physician had to fish for it all over again.
But the process of tying off the ends of the blood vessels was over sooner than Melchett thought it would be, and soon Marbeck was spooning onion paste into the wound. He folded another piece of boiled linen into a small square, soaked it in the onion juice, and covered the wound with it. He did this several times, then used the last of the linen to tie the pads in place.
"And now, Melchett, if you would help me carry Blackadder to my rooms? I can watch him there."
When Melchett returned to the Little Chamber, both Elizabeth and Nursie were gone. He stood in the middle of the empty room and turned in a circle. He'd never been in it when it was empty. Always there's been somebody here, something happening. He heard footsteps and turned to see a woman, one of the many without whom Apethorpe would cease to run smoothly. Pail of water in one hand and brush in the other, she walked up in front of the platform and went to work on her hands and knees, scrubbing the already drying blood off the floor.
Here I must be honest and admit Elizabeth only visited Sir Walter at Apethorpe once, and that in 1566, which makes the first visit I wrote about absolutely fictitious. She did love to hunt, and the sparse details I've included are fairly accurate. To blow the mort is to make a call on the huntsman's horn signifying the game hunted is dead.
Elizabeth really did write a very angry letter to Parliament when they nagged her yet again in 1566 to name an heir to the throne, and the bit I've included here is the rewrite as done by her advisor, William Cecil.
She really did, on Maundy Thursday of each year, wash the feet of as many poor women as years she had lived, and then gave them each a bag of coins (as many as she was years old), and various presents.
Giovanni da Vigo (1450 - 1525) and Ambroise Paré (1510 - 1590) were both real physicians and were both pioneers for their time in the treatment of gunshot wounds. I should probably mention that Roger Marbeck (1536 - 1604) was also really Elizabeth's personal physician.
This is sort of a cliffhanger, but if you've been paying attention, you already know the outcome and why.
When I originally wrote this, I fell asleep while writing and penned, "(Marbeck) came in with a rather large bagel." Actually, he did not—it wasn't even breakfast time! That made absolutely no sense at all, unless one can posit large bagels as a valid treatment for gunshot wounds. :-)
Thanks so much for reading. 3 And please leave a review.