In which Ludwig the Indestructable finds out he is not, Queenie cries, and Edmund and Percy come to an understanding.

I do not own Blackadder or any of his friends; I'm only playing with them.

Behind the wall, Elizabeth was frantic with what she had just seen. The whole thing had taken maybe two minutes.

"Ludwig is back, and he's killed Carolyn and stabbed them all! Guards, Edmund's blocked the doors to keep Ludwig in, but you must break them down. And get my physician immediately!"

Then she put her eye back to the spy-hole, as if she could influence events simply by watching them unfold. Ludwig was ignoring Edmund completely. He stood amongst the carnage, barely breathing hard, and laughed. "Now, this is a disguise I'm really going to enjoy. If I can just get the voice right."

Edmund was on his back, one fist wadded in the front of his doublet. As she watched, he turned his head toward Carolyn and reached out to her with his other hand. He thinks that's me, Elizabeth thought. He thinks I'm dead! From a distance, through the walls, she could hear pounding as the guards began trying to break through the double doors. Eye back to the spy-hole. Ludwig had bent and was cleaning his dagger on Melchett's robes. Unbelievably, Edmund had rolled over, located his dagger, and was crawling toward the throne, dagger in hand. Her heart in her throat, she watched as he climbed up onto the dais and then pulled himself up by the carved arm of the chair. He stood swaying before the throne, dagger held out before him.

Ludwig crossed the room to the dessert table, drank a goblet of wine, saw the cake, ate it in three bites, and had another goblet of wine. Then he turned to the front of the room and laughed at Edmund guarding Elizabeth's really big chair.

"Do you honestly believe you can prewent me from taking the throne? As you English say, you really take the cake!"

Edmund coughed; his knees buckled and he slid down to sit on the edge of the seat of power of England.

"No, you really take the cake—well, you've already taken it." He coughed again and wiped the corner of his mouth with his free hand. "You didn't happen to notice it was poisoned?"

Ludwig sheathed his dagger and laughed derisively. "You don't expect me to fall for zat old trick?"

"I fell for it once," Blackadder said quietly.

"You are dying, Blackadder, and soon I—" Ludwig collapsed to the floor on his face.

By force of will Blackadder pushed himself up to go unblock the doors.

Elizabeth ran out into the hall and arrived just as the double doors crashed into the room. From right behind the guards, she just glimpsed Edmund as he collapsed.

While the guards checked Ludwig to make sure he was dead, Marbeck was looking over the others to see if he could do anything for them. Elizabeth ran to Edmund and sat on the floor next to him. Taking his head and shoulders into her lap, she cradled his head in her arm. He opened his eyes and looked at her, surprise crossing his features briefly. She was weeping, but as she was the queen and as tough as her nose was pretty; she wept silently.

"Edmund, please forgive me. We were playing a joke on you, to see how long before you knew it wasn't me. I was going to ask you after."

He licked dry lips and gathered his breath. "Ask what?"

"Edmund, will you marry me?"

He took several shallow breaths. "When?"

Just then Marbeck knelt beside them. She turned a beseeching face toward him. "Can't you do something, heal him like you did the last time?"

Marbeck glanced briefly at Blackadder's face, then undid the dozen buttons of the doublet and pulled it back to reveal the linen shirt, so sodden with blood that it could not be told from the crimson lining of the doublet. He caught her eye and shook his head.

"Oh, Ned." She used her pet name for him. "Sweet Blackadder, I love you."

He reached up to touch her face, as if he would wipe the tears from her cheeks. His fingertips barely grazed her skin.

She took his hand and kissed it and held it to her cheek.

He swallowed and licked his lips again. "Love you," he murmured.

Elizabeth lowered his hand to his chest and ran her fingers through his hair, brushing the damp curls away from his forehead.

"Edmund," she said, leaning over him. "Let me hear you call me Bess just once."

He struggled for air and then, with a tender smile that broke her heart, whispered her name.

She squeezed her eyes shut just for a second; when she opened them, he was gone. She wrapped her fingers in his curls and wept bitterly.

• • •

The next day near midnight Percy, Blackadder and Baldrick were in Blackadder's upstairs chamber. Baldrick was quietly packing books and assorted things into a large trunk.

"Thank you for the use of your dagger, Baldrick." Blackadder said. "It was fortunate Marbeck put us in the same room as Ludwig. You have no idea the satisfaction it gave me to watch that man finally die."

"Yes, my lord, I know what you mean."

Edmund opened a panel in the wall and removed a small chest. As he checked the contents, Percy paced back and forth before the door.

"I am not at all happy about this, Edmund."

"What are you talking about, Percy?" Edmund put the chest into the trunk and perched on the edge of the table. "Are you not happy you're alive?"

"No. Yes, I'm glad I'm alive, but it's never before involved other people."

"It involved my whole family last time, if I recall."

"I know, but—"

"My father, Percy, such as he was. My mother. My brother." Blackadder's face was tight. "My little bride, Leia. Who actually wasn't that little when she died. And it was your doing. You poisoned the entire wine butt."

Percy shook his head. "But Edmund, I only meant to save you! I didn't mean to kill them!"

"I know, Percy." Edmund said quietly, glancing at Baldrick. "And I generally don't go throwing what you did in your face, do I? You couldn't have known what was going to happen that night or the day following; none of us could. And once the harm was done, there was nothing you could have done to change it."

Percy, though, had the tenacity of a dog. On the rare occasion he got hold of an idea, he wouldn't let it go.

"That's true, but this time I think it could have been prevented."

"Oh, I see, Percy. When I was killed the first time by drinking the wine you poisoned, it wasn't your fault. But this time, when others are killed after I've been stabbed and am myself on the floor bleeding to death, it is my fault."

"They didn't have to die." Percy insisted.

Blackadder rose and stood very still while he spoke, facing Percy across the table. "Right."

Having finished packing, Baldrick stood a short distance away, watching.

"While you were enjoying the comforts of court, Melchett and I had been kidnapped and I was being tortured for no discernable reason. Even been tortured, Percy? No? Well, this is my second go-round, and I can tell you I don't find it enjoyable in the least. Ludwig told us his plan was to kill the Queen and take the throne. Melchett and I agreed that the fancy-dress party the Queen had already scheduled should go ahead, but we would be there waiting for him. We managed to escape and I rode a horse to death to get to the Queen with our plan. Melchett followed as fast as he could, and then we came into the party together so Ludwig wouldn't catch on that I'd warned her Majesty. We uncovered Ludwig and I skewered him with my sword. And when he ran, I shot him with a bolt from my crossbow. We all thought him dead. Those two wounds would have killed any normal man, Percy. Haven't you wondered why Ludwig was able to get up and run not long after I'd run him through, and how he lived to return and do his evil work?"

Blackadder paused, giving Percy a chance to figure it out. It was Baldrick, though, who kindly supplied Percy with the answer.

"The only way Ludwig could have survived and come back the following night, my lord, is if he was like us."

Percy's expression epitomized confusion. "Like—but how could that have happened?"

Blackadder was tired, and rapidly tiring of Percy's mindless rolling through history, his love of fashion and empty-headed pursuit of social activities. "Which delegation arrived from which country the day we were to be burned alive by the Witchsmeller, Percy?"

"I don't remember."

"Of course you don't. Your brain is as useless to you as a set of mammaries is to a male dog. I do remember, as it happens; I had to listen to Harry greet them in their own vulgar tongue. They were from Germany, and by coincidence were passing by when Mother's magic spilled over and must have hit one Ludwig of Lübingen, part of the retinue of ambassadors come to propose a new treaty, since all the treaties in the last ten years had been rendered null and void, as everyone had broken them." Blackadder crossed his arms.

"He lived like us, recovering easily from his injuries and aging but imperceptibly. Being vain, he believed his good health came from within himself. Therefore he styled himself Ludwig the Indestructible and got it into his head that he would conquer the whole world, starting with England. It only took him fifty years to perfect his art of disguise, and then he was ready. The night he kidnapped Melchett and me, he was ready. The night he came as a cow in Nursie's place, he was ready. And the next night, when he came back to finish what he'd begun, he was ready."

Blackadder's voice was tight with self-loathing. "None of us expected him to come back. I didn't, did you, Baldrick?"

"No, my lord, I did not."

"Did you, Percy?"

"Do you know what her name was?" Percy's voice was low.

"Whose name?"

"The woman who died in the Queen's place."

"No, and I don't care."

"Her name was Carolyn." Percy lifted his head. "And another thing. I don't like the way you speak to me."

Edmund sat down and put his head in his hands. "Oh, for God's sake, grow up, man." He looked up at Percy. "Would you have sacrificed the Queen of England, who happens to be your sovereign as well as mine, for one kitchen drudge?"

Percy twitched his head. "She didn't work in the kitchens. She was a maiden of honor to the Queen, and she loved me."

"Just as Gwendolyn did, no doubt. What makes you think so, Percy? Was she nice to you, did she speak to you as if you were a human being, did you rub elbows with her as you passed in the corridor?"

"I don't have to tell you that."

Putting his head back in his hands, Edmund rubbed his temples. "You're right, you don't have to. I can see in your face you have no idea what love really is. You're stuck at the age of twelve, like an infatuated schoolboy." Baldrick moved to stand behind Blackadder's chair and laid his hand on his old friend's shoulder to stop him before he became cruel.

"Very well." Percy gathered what little dignity he could. "Answer me for Kat Ashley."

"Kat Ashley?"

"Oh, sorry, you only knew her as Nursie. Answer me for Nursie—and for Lord Melchett."

Edmund lifted his head. "Answer you?" He stood, his face paler than usual. "Very well. Your maiden of honor, by the way, volunteered to take the Queen's place the second night in order to play a joke on me. The Queen, Melchett, and Nursie were all in on it. None of them knew they were placing their lives at stake. And as far as I am concerned, Lord Melchett died a hero. Not for a moment, I can assure you, did either of us give a thought for our own lives."

"Of course you didn't," Percy said "when you knew you couldn't be killed!"

Blackadder leaned across the table and slapped Percy hard. Percy straightened from the blow, the expression on his face one of hurt and betrayal.

"You really are as stupid as you look, aren't you?" Blackadder said quietly. "Melchett and I were friends."

Edmund Blackadder walked out of the room, and out of the house. When he came back very early the next morning, Percy was gone. Blackadder never saw him again.

(Blackadder's POV)

Baldrick and I had to leave; to stay was to invite questions we would rather not have answered. Of course, our absence raised nearly as many questions as our staying would have; because our bodies were never found and there was no decent burial, the rumors flew thick and fast. I think the one that hurt most was that I had been scheming to take the throne and had myself let Ludwig into the Queen's privy chamber that night.

As all things do after time however, that particular hubbub died down. Elizabeth continued to reign wisely and well, and for that I was glad. England needed a monarch who had a good head about her. At the same time, however, over the years I saw that she was beginning to attain an almost legendary status. It bothered me, I must admit, and there were times when I considered going back in disguise and seeing what the fuss was all about. But I stayed away, living quietly in the North under an assumed name and building my estate with the faithful Baldrick at my side.

I feel here I ought to put in a word for Baldrick. He suffered my anger and disdain for decades; he shared my rapturous heights and my melancholies; he went along with every cock-eyed plan I ever cooked up, and all without complaint. Or at least, with very few complaints. It wasn't until Elizabeth, I think, that I began to comprehend the true measure of the man. He was the best friend I had ever had, and I should have appreciated him far sooner than I did.

1587

I finally sold the house on Drury Lane. I had been letting the house to a man and his wife and their seven children named Sutcliffe. I don't mean all the children were named Sutcliffe, of course. One was named Edmund, if I remember correctly. But they had been good renters for over a dozen years and I was happy to offer Sutcliffe the house for a reasonable price and he was happy to oblige me by taking it off my hands. When I bought the house in 1554, it had been surrounded by fields in which cattle were grazed and wheat and barley were grown. Now it was surrounded by many other houses and shops, all filled with people. The general uproar was not sufficient to my tastes. I think probably living in the north had spoiled me.

We sold the house in late January and went down to London to take payment from Sutcliffe and see to the old place in Love Lane in Billingsgate. I had been careful to keep it in good repair and even though it was now nearly eighty years old, it was still strong and tight against the weather. I replaced a few pieces of furniture with plain but sturdy stuff made by a fellow who lived nearby, had some broken tiles on the roof replaced, and headed north for home the seventh of February.

On the way I decided to visit Fotheringhay, where I had stayed briefly with Uncle Richard as a child. I don't know what it was that made me want to see that dear old place. Perhaps it was the increasing impression that people and places and things I had loved in my first life were being lost forever, but I do not recall any kind of maudlin emotion over it. I do remember that as we neared the castle there was a great crowd of people on the road and we were hemmed in from all sides, so that the driver could only walk the horses as fast as the people moved. We were stuck in the press.

The driver said, "I can lay about me with the whip if you want, my Lord, and get this rabble to move."

"What whip?" I inquired of him, and as he held it up for our perusal I took it from him, coiled it neatly and laid it on the floor at my feet. "You'll do nothing of the kind. We will wait until the crowd disperses."

But it did not. In fact, it grew to astounding proportions the nearer we got to the castle.

"Look at them, Baldrick; you'd think they were going for a picnic!"

"Yes, my Lord, it is a nice day for a picnic."

"Don't play stupid with me, Baldrick, I'm serious. This may cramp our plans to see my old rooms. But I do know a secret way in." I looked about me at the crowd. "All we have to do is get out of the carriage and to a door that, unless things have changed, only I know about." I had known about it, in fact, for nearly one hundred twenty years. The kindly old gardner show it to me one evening when at the age of twelve I had gotten out of the castle and would have gotten into serious trouble with my uncle if discovered missing.

The door led to a corridor that led to the Great Hall, which we had to cross and then go up the stairs to my old room. Even when I was a young man I heard it was being used for storage, and I suspected nothing had changed in the ninety years since I had been back. We got into the corridor and bypassed the crowds, then eased into the Great Hall. The minute we entered I knew it was a mistake, for there was a great number of people standing all around the outer edges of the room.

"I don't understand it," I said to Baldrick as we pressed forward, "this room was always empty."

"Not today it isn't," he replied. "We could go back, my Lord."

I turned and glanced at the doors. They had been shut and were guarded by men in armor with drawn swords. The doors on the far side of the room were also bolted and guarded. We could not get out.

I made my way to the front of the crowd and saw a wooden platform draped in black about twelve feet wide against the side wall of the room. On it was a block and a headsman holding a bloody axe. To one side there was a stool, and in front of the block was a pillow for the victim to kneel on. There was going to be an execution. My knees went weak when I thought of all the times Queen Elizabeth had threatened me with this very death. Before I could react in any way however, a woman escorted by two other women, presumably her servants, made her way to the platform and mounted the five steps.

I tapped a man next to me. "Who is that?"

He turned a disbelieving eye on me. "You mean you haven't heard of Mary, the Scots Queen? That traitorous Scottish wench is finally going to meet her end, and I don't envy her a bit."

I turned back to the scene in front of me. I wasn't appalled or offended by this; beheadings were a fairly common thing in those days and we were used to them. As for Mary herself, she had been a prisoner of Elizabeth for twenty years and the Lords had been petitioning a reluctant Elizabeth to have her put to death for a long time. She had become a part of the landscape. The only terror a beheading could hold for me was to remind me how many times I had narrowly escaped it myself.

Mary stood very still and the headsman suddenly knelt before her. I couldn't hear what he said, though I learned later he asked her forgiveness. I scorned the man for being weak and said so to my servant.

"The man's a quivering nancy, Baldrick. Look at him, on his knees to the very woman whose head he's about to lop off!"

Baldrick said quietly, "You can't help being sorry afterward, my Lord. I know I couldn't."

Then it was I remembered he had worked for Ploppy under the Lord High Executioner for Elizabeth, even before my short tenure in that office. Then it was I remembered his long silences on evenings when he'd had to do the job himself.

The two servants—and the headsman!—helped her remove her bodice, her skirts, her petticoats and her corset. Under it all she was wearing a long, dark red chemise. She was then blindfolded and made to kneel, her head placed on the block and her arms behind her. The headsman took his position and said something else I could not hear. I saw her nod her head, and he lifted his axe. Suddenly the spell holding me was broken and I turned away, my only desire to get to the door and get out.

The guards had sheathed their swords and the doors were no longer blocked. I heard the axe fall as I opened the door, and I heard it fall again as I closed it behind me. A short while later, Baldrick caught up to me where I waited by the staircase.

"Ah, Baldrick, there you are. Sorry I left, but I wanted to make certain we could get up the stairs to my rooms before the crowd began running all over the place."

Baldrick ignored me. He was the nearest thing to angry I had seen so far in our long relationship.

"It took him two strokes to finish the job," he fumed. "Two strokes! I don't think she felt much, but it was still cruel. Either it was cruel or he wasn't the man for the job. Or the axe was dull. He should have used a very sharp axe, aimed right for the middle of the neck, and come down swift with one powerful stroke—like you do when you're chopping wood, my lord." I had taken to chopping my own wood at Blackadder castle for "need of exercise". In the early years after the tragedy I was often up very early of a morning chopping wood when we already had quite a sufficient supply. But after a while, I chopped what we needed out of habit. It was the job I'd taken on.

"Come on, let's go upstairs and take a look at my old digs." I wanted to be distracted from what had just happened, and from the unsettling knowledge that my servant had just given me instructions on how to take off someone's head using, of course, a very sharp axe.

True confession time: I never was satisfied with how the second series of Black Adder ended, so I wrote it the way I wanted, and Edmund continues on, while Ludwig gets his comeuppance and England is saved (depending on your point of view). Percy obviously hasn't handled "Mother's gift" and the changes that have come with it very well, and his story is a bit different from here on—but he's not out of the picture entirely, as we will see later. :-)

The beheading of Mary Queen of Scots was a horrible thing. Not simply because she was beheaded, but because of the way it was done. It did take two strokes to do most of the work, and the first stroke was almost a complete miss. There still needed to be a little knife work done after the second stroke, sadly. When the headsman held up her head to show the crowd, he was left holding her wig as her actual head separated from the wig and fell to the floor, rolling some distance away. If you want any more detail than that, I suggest you do your own research, as even I find it quite gory. Those were definitely different times.

Thanks so much for the reviews, from another guest and from Pliffy! I noticed I had readers from the US, the UK, Spain, Finland, Australia, the Netherlands, Ireland, China, Ukraine, Greece, and Norway. Thanks so much to all of you who are reading—I love you all!