Chapter 1: Aurora
A Palazzo in Venice. August 1621.
Gerbert d'Aurillac replaced the letter from Benjamin in the secret drawer of his desk. Still nothing about the English witch who'd been seen in Prague. The rumors of her association with Matthew de Clermont were tantalizing but slim. Was she a weaver? Did she have the Book of Life in her possession?
After 1591, there were no further reports of them being seen in Prague. Based on Domenico Michele's research, Matthew had spent the past few decades in Amsterdam and Paris. Gerbert had hired the Italian manjasang to keep an eye on Matthew. Domenico was unscrupulous . . . and greedy. An ideal combination for Gerbert's purposes. Domenico was convinced that Matthew wasn't associating with witches.
A few rumors had surfaced, suggesting that someone had appropriated Matthew's identity in Prague. Although that appeared to be the likeliest scenario, it didn't decrease the probability that stories of a powerful English weaver were true. That type of ability couldn't be faked.
Gerbert rose abruptly. He needed eyes in England. For this task, his daughter Aurora was the best candidate. He likened her to a modern Lucrezia Borgia—the face of a blonde angel with a ruthless soul that mimicked his own. She spoke English fluently. For the past few years, she'd urged him to extend their influence to England. Reportedly, the de Clermonts weren't meddling in British affairs. The country had rich potential. Had the time come for him to follow his daughter's advice?
Gerbert found Aurora in the courtyard, singing a canzone while accompanying herself on the lute. "I have a mission for you, Daughter," he said, sitting down on the stone bench next to her.
Her fingers stilled on the strings. "Whatever you'd like, Father."
"You may not be so eager when you hear what it is," he cautioned. "You'll need to conceal your hatred of witches. Will that be an issue?"
"Not at all," she said, offering him a radiant smile. "Some of my dearest friends are witches."
He snorted as he thought about the ones she'd killed. To look at her face, one would be convinced of her absolute sincerity. She was meant to be a spy. Gerbert had never taken Aurora into his confidence about the Book of Life, but it was time she knew. His quest for that magical tome would become hers as well.
"Andrew Hubbard rules over witches as well as wearhs in London," Gerbert cautioned. "They're the most likely to know about the English weaver who goes by the name of Diana Roydon. But it will be difficult to obtain any information from them. They're a closed society and unlikely to share any confidences with strangers. Hubbard requires blood from any creature who enters what he considers to be his domain."
Aurora shrugged, her golden curls rippling down her back. "I won't have any trouble in staying out of his clutches." She thought a moment. "When I was in Spain last year, I met the Duke of Buckingham and his wife. The Duke's charm is almost equal to mine. He commands the king's ear, and some say the rest of him as well. His wife Katherine is a devout Catholic, although she pretends to be a Protestant. We've become friends."
Yet another reason why Aurora was his favorite child. Her intelligence was second only to his, and she kept her eyes constantly open for ways of exerting influence.
Aurora strummed her lute thoughtfully. "I could write to Katherine, explaining my desire to visit her. Undoubtedly, she would be delighted to have my companionship. Her husband is, shall we say, not very attentive."
"Do you have any contacts among English manjasangs?"
"There is one who could be useful. She's an actress and currently resides in Venice. She performs commedia dell'arte."
"What's her name?"
"Bryn Walbrook. She'd make a delightful traveling companion. She used to live in London. I'll be able to take advantage of her connections."
Gerbert nodded his approval. "I assume no one knows of your relationship to me?"
"Of course not, Father."
"Keep it that way." England was a prize ripe for the picking. The religious countercurrents could be exploited to keep the country unstable. Gerbert had left political machinations to Philippe for far too long. While Philippe was occupied on the continent, Gerbert would strengthen his alliances on the periphery. His spies had already assured him there were many unaffiliated manjasangs in the British Isles. Lonely, perhaps disenchanted—they were a fertile recruiting ground. He'd already solidified his base in Eastern Europe. It was time to expand. Perhaps even Hubbard could be persuaded to join him. Gerbert knew for a fact he despised the de Clermonts. If Gerbert could win him over, London would be his.
Aurora would be his mouthpiece. She idolized him and would do whatever he requested. Gerbert arranged a tress of her blonde hair. Aurora's charms could tempt even a priest.
Chatsworth House, Derbyshire. November 1621.
Jack stood back to scrutinize the mural for one last time. He'd probably never have an occasion to see it again. The goddess Diana and her nymphs were on a hunt. He'd painted them running through a moonlit forest. The stag was just beyond the reach of their bows.
He'd been commissioned by Inigo Jones to paint all the murals in the house in the style of Master Rubens. Thanks to the drawings Inigo had obtained in Antwerp, Jack was able to imitate the style demanded by the Earl of Devonshire. Inigo had come to Chatsworth last week to inspect the renovation progress and left a list of the final touches he wanted him to execute.
Gone were the days when Inigo worked side by side with Jack and Leonard. The architect was in demand throughout England. The Palladian style he'd embraced was all the rage, with noblemen vying for his services. In addition, Inigo had been elected a Member of Parliament for a borough in Sussex at the beginning of the year.
Inigo's change in circumstances had been particularly difficult for Leonard. More than ever, they needed to be discreet in their relationship. Most men who had Inigo's inclination married to maintain appearances, but he never had. Instead, Leonard had grown adept at taking advantage of Inigo's constant travel, whether in England or overseas.
Five years ago, when Jack needed to set up a new identity, Inigo provided employment at various houses undergoing renovation. Jack alternated between commissions in different sections of the country, keeping a low profile so that he'd be easily forgotten.
His previous job had been at an estate in Norfolk close to Norwich. He'd been able to visit Jeffrey Norman and his wife Annick. They now had two children. The boy had been named John after Jeffrey's deceased brother. He was seventeen and didn't look much younger than Jack. The daughter was named Annie, in memory of the girl who'd been a big sister to Jack when he lived with the Roydons. Although that was thirty years ago, the memories were still fresh. Jack kept them alive through his paintings. There was a hint of Mistress Roydon in the goddess's features in the mural. He hadn't been able to include Master Roydon in this painting, but Master Roydon was enshrined as Apollo in the salon.
He never signed his works but he'd devised a workaround. It was based on Philippe's praise of the knots he'd used in the murals in the crypt of Christ Church Greyfriars. In every painting he made, he hid a knot. Sometimes, it was concealed within the fold of a gown. Often he placed one within the design of a flower. In this mural, he'd added an intricate knot to a tree trunk. He enjoyed making each one unique. They were all reminders of the knots Mistress Roydon wove with Goody Alsop.
The Roydons weren't the only personal touches in this set of murals. Jack had imagined Hannah as one of Diana's nymphs. The woman he'd known as a young lady-in-waiting for Queen Anne had been widowed at the age of twenty-three. She'd remarried a year later, and judging by the few letters he'd received, she was content. She had two children and had retired from court life. He'd been tempted to stop by her estate in Hampshire to look at her from afar, but what was the point? Better to keep her image a memory. He'd become an expert at that.
"I thought I'd find you in here," Leonard said, striding into the dining room. "The carts have left. We should be on our way as well."
"Just saying goodbye." Jack cast a final quick look at the mural. He'd painted faint shadows on the moon in homage to Tom Harriot. Together they'd worked on his moon maps ten years ago. Tom would have enjoyed knowing that "his" moon was shining down on Diana.
"You should be more excited," Leonard chided. "We're heading back to London!"
"Sorry, but reuniting with Inigo isn't as high a priority for me as it is for you."
Leonard smiled sheepishly. "Perhaps not, but you should be enthusiastic about the masque. God's Truth, it's been too long since we worked on one together with Inigo. Alfonso Ferrabosco is slated to compose the music. Ben Jonson wrote the script. It will be like old times."
"Only the patron will be new." During Queen Anne's extended illness, no masques had been staged at court. It was just as well that Hannah was no longer a lady-in-waiting. The queen had reduced their number to a few trusted friends, including Lady Lucy Bedford. After her death, there were none at court, and that situation would likely continue. The king was rumored to be so smitten with the Duke of Buckingham that he wasn't interested in another marriage.
Artists, actors, and musicians alike were pinning their hopes on the Prince of Wales. Charles was now twenty-one. Inigo reported he was an avid supporter of the arts. This upcoming masque was to be the first one produced under his patronage.
"I received a letter from Inigo," Leonard said. "Ben has completed the script. He's calling it the Masque of Augurs."
"Augurs? As in the ancient Roman fortune tellers?"
"The very same." Leonard gave him a nudge. "That will allow Inigo—and you—to stage settings for the full panoply of gods."
"In ancient Rome, the augurs practiced their craft by studying birds. Their flights, their calls, what they looked like—all could be used to predict events. Ben will probably toss in some references just to challenge Inigo to come up with something appropriate."
"You know him well," Leonard said with a laugh. "He also added bears, probably for the same purpose."
"I'll enjoy seeing the costumes," Jack said, his heart lightening at the thought of the actors being chased around by lumbering bears.
"Since it's to be performed on Twelfth Night, I'm sure Inigo's budget will be sufficient even for Ben's demands."
"The Prince of Wales is already known for his exquisite taste. This masque could usher in a new era of opulence."
"I bet you're right. We'll likely need new performance attire." Leonard eyed Jack's paint-stained garment. "Particularly you, my friend. Ferrabosco always writes parts for the viol. You could be called on to perform solo works. I'm glad we went ahead and created a new identity for you." His lips tightened into a frown.
"What's wrong?"
"When was the last time Ferrabosco saw you as Jack Blackfriars?"
"It's been over ten years." Two years ago, Jack changed his surname to Coleman. Under that identity, he'd auditioned and secured a spot with his former playing company, the King's Men. During the years Jack stayed away from court, there'd been a turnover in the members. None of the current players remembered Jack Blackfriars. "You don't think Ferrabosco will recognize me?"
"Not after ten years. Your hair is much longer. Your clothes are different. Ferrabosco is so near-sighted, you'll probably just be a blur. Still, it's unfortunate you don't have a beard."
Jack shrugged. "We were both reborn too young to have much facial hair."
"Forget I mentioned it. You'll be fine. Inigo's eager for us to meet Prince Charles." Leonard grinned. "He could augur well for our future."
Jack hoped Leonard was right. There'd been little cheer in his life over the past year. The one bright spot was that Lord Northumberland had finally been released from the Tower in July. After a prolonged stay in Bath to take the waters, he'd settled in Petworth. Jack wished he could have visited his former guardian more often, but his lordship's children didn't know who he was. He'd snuck in once, but Lord Northumberland was now almost blind in addition to being deaf, so it had been difficult to communicate.
"I know London will bring back sad memories," Leonard added quietly. "Losing the ones you care about is harder for us than warmbloods. We never stop mourning them."
Jack nodded, grateful for his understanding. He turned to look one final time at the mural. Tom had died in July shortly before Lord Northumberland was released. Tom had suffered from a cancerous ulcer on his nose for years. He claimed he was looking forward to the release brought by everlasting sleep. But Jack hadn't been ready for him to go.
The day after Tom was buried in London, Jack left the city. He hadn't returned since. He hoped Leonard was right about the future, but at the moment the ghosts of the past dominated his thoughts.
Hotel de Clermont, Paris.
Philippe stretched his legs in front of the fire as he contemplated the flames. Matthew continued to read dispatches at the table by the row of windows overlooking the courtyard. The salon seemed an empty place without Ysabeau. She'd already returned to Sept-Tours to prepare for the end of the year festivities. He should be there as well. His son Baldwin was en route from Amsterdam to the family estate. Freyja was traveling to Sept-Tours from Italy. Of all his children, only Matthew was with him at the moment. They were scheduled to depart in a few days.
The hotel was a recent acquisition. Philippe had long resisted owning property in Paris but Baldwin convinced him of the necessity. Nobles were all building mansions in the Place Royale. The square at the center of the city was now one of the best sources of gossip.
The de Clermonts were navigating a tricky course of counseling King Louis XIII while maintaining cordial relations with his mother, Marie de Medici. Freyja was particularly useful with Marie. Baldwin was operating hand in glove with the Duke de Richelieu and believed that the Duke would soon be appointed Cardinal. Richelieu had been instrumental in negotiating a reconciliation between Marie and her son. He appeared destined to play a pivotal role in French politics.
Much as Philippe disliked admitting it, Baldwin was much more successful with Louis than Philippe had been in England. Once James got it into his head to govern in person, the situation went from bad to worse. James's habit of latching onto a succession of favorites did him little credit. Buckingham in Philippe's view was the worst of the lot.
A slow sigh by Matthew interrupted his musing. "Bad news?" he asked.
Matthew nodded. "I heard from Hal Percy's son Algernon. His father's health continues to deteriorate."
Time had not been kind to Matthew's friends in England. Raleigh had been executed three years ago. As for Harriot—
"I intend to go to England in the new year," Matthew announced. "I couldn't help Walter, but I won't let Hal think he's been abandoned by me."
"He could hardly think that," Philippe objected. "I'm sure your letters were a great comfort to him."
"If he could read them," Matthew grumbled.
"Hal was not without friends during his time of incarceration. He met regularly with Harriot and other scholars. He was able to fence and bowl. It was only recently that his eyesight failed him."
He wouldn't raise any objections to Matthew's trip. Once the plans were firm, he'd write to Hubbard to ensure that Jack was nowhere near. Philippe had cultivated a friendship with Inigo Jones during his last trip to England, some ten years ago. He'd hired Inigo to design several of the rooms in his Paris mansion. It would be a trivial matter for Inigo to dispatch Jack to some estate far away from London.
Someday Matthew would find the maps of the moon which Philippe had commissioned from Harriot. They'd been a joint project with Jack framing the drawings with the same unusual type of knot border he'd used in the crypt. At Philippe's request, the pup also added exquisite portraits of Matthew's friends from London. Chapman, Raleigh, Northumberland, and Harriot were all featured as well as Christopher Marlowe, although the latter had only been included at Philippe's insistence. Normally Jack didn't sign his works, but Philippe requested he do so for this project. It was not only for Matthew's benefit that Philippe had commissioned the project. It was a tangible sign to Jack that his dream of reuniting with Matthew and Diana might one day become reality.
Ten years ago, Philippe had purchased a book of calligraphy ornamented with flora and fauna. It had originally been commissioned by Emperor Rudolph. The calligrapher used similar knot designs. Philippe had taken the book with him on a trip to England to show Jack what he had in mind for the map project. The Hungarian artist added shadows to make the objects more realistic, and Jack did the same with Matthew's friends. The finished manuscript was a masterpiece destined to remain hidden till a far-off future.
Until then, Philippe planned to keep Jack busy with an assortment of assignments. Recently Rubens had been in Paris. Philippe commissioned him to paint a mural for his new residence, and it hadn't escaped his notice that Rubens did more than a little spying on the side for the Hapsburgs. Now that the Prince of Wales was asserting himself, Jack might also have occasion to be at court. He could prove to be a useful source of information once more.
Whitehall Palace. December 1621.
Leonard stood up and brushed off his breeches at the familiar scent of chamomile and lavender. By the time Bryn swept into the chamber, he was at the door to greet her. Bryn was dressed in the latest style, eschewing a ruff for a smaller wired collar. Her sleeves were puffed and slashed to an extreme that would make Inigo sigh with envy.
"When did you get back in London?" he asked.
"Yesterday. Father H said I'd find you here." She glanced around the clutter of the workshop. "Is this for the masque?"
Leonard nodded. "We're on a tight schedule to finish all the backdrops in a fortnight."
"Since when did you become a carpenter?"
Leonard chuckled. "Since never. I'm here to supervise." He nodded toward the workmen who were carving a border in a backdrop. "They're the true artisans." He lowered his voice to a murmur to prevent any chance of being overheard. "It's been a useful second identity."
She nodded her understanding. "You haven't needed to spend as much time away from England as I have."
"I thought you planned to stay in Venice till summer."
"That was my original intent, but when I had the opportunity to travel back to London in luxury, how could I refuse?" In response to Leonard's arched eyebrows, she added. "I'm the traveling companion of Aurora Dandolo, a friend from Venice. This is her first trip to England and she asked for my assistance."
"Dandolo," Leonard repeated thoughtfully. "Isn't that the name of one of the Venetian noble houses?"
She nodded complacently. "The current head, Giovanni Dandolo, has entered into umm . . . an understanding with several of our kin."
"Of beneficial interest?"
"Precisely."
Leonard had heard that the practice was commonplace in Italy. Wearhs were able to provide many useful services, something the more enlightened members of the Italian aristocracy were quick to appreciate. Wearhs paid handsomely for being allowed to claim a relationship and thus ensure respectability.
"Aurora is friends with the Duchess of Buckingham," Bryn confided. "We're staying at York House. Can you believe it?"
"Only since it's you. Finagling a way to reside at the home of the second most powerful man in England for anyone else would be a nigh impossible feat." York House was on the Strand, not far from the house Lord Northumberland used to rent. Bryn was no doubt floating on a cloud to stay at what was reputed to be one of the grandest residences along the Strand. "Have you met the Duke?"
"He greeted us personally when we arrived and is every bit as charming as I've heard, but you must already know that since you're helping to stage Inigo's masques."
Leonard nodded. The duke had appointed himself dance instructor to the Prince of Wales and regularly performed beside the prince. "He'll be one of the luminaries in this masque as well."
"Is Jack in London?" Bryn asked.
"Aye, he's in an adjoining chamber, painting one of the backdrops we'd already completed—far away from our sawdust. He'll be happy to see you."
"As will I. Is he seeing anyone now?"
"Nay, it took him quite a while to get over Hannah."
Bryn's face lit up. "Perfect! Aurora has been making subtle hints—alas, not for me. Jack is a great match for her."
"Are you sure about that?" Leonard asked warily.
"Of course, I am," she said indignantly. "Aurora is nothing like me. She's innocent and sweet, in other words just like Jack. They'll both thank me."
Leonard hoped she was right. Jack was still depressed over Tom's death. He needed someone to brighten his life. Bryn knew Jack well. If she thought they were suited for each other, Leonard wouldn't raise any objections.
Notes: Thanks for reading! The title is from a play by Ben Jonson. "There shall be no love lost" is a line in the comedy Every Man out of His Humour. Chatsworth House was originally constructed for Bess Hardwick in the mid-sixteenth century. At the time of this story, it was owned by one of her sons, William Cavendish, the 1st Earl of Devonshire. Inigo Jones was involved in remodeling projects for many of the great estates in England, but there is no record of him working at Chatsworth. The current Chatsworth House was extensively remodeled in the late 17th and 18th centuries.
Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation. See the Six-Crossed Knot page for background information on the series and an introduction to the world of All Souls Trilogy.
Story Visuals and Music on Pinterest: Six-Crossed Knot board on Silbrith's Stories