CHAPTER FIVE
The Huntress in the Garden
As it is not possible for me to go to Grant's Place, for the weather has broken again and more snow is falling, I instead divide my days between the offices, Cromwell's quarters and my own. He tells me that we have encountered Lady Midday several times, and on each occasion, I have become hideously in love with her - and it is only by forcing me to return to my chambers and take up my sword that he has prevented me from making a dreadful idiot of myself.
Short of using silver upon her, I have no idea how we can possibly dispatch her without causing a scandal from which even the Queen cannot save us. We almost never see Wyatt now, for he broods amongst the other rejected beaus, or writes yet more awful poetry; and he looks upon me with emotions akin to hatred, for I have been seen in the company of the Lady, while he has failed to secure so much as a glance. I cannot even dispatch a messenger to Molly to search the Library on my behalf, as none will venture out in the storms that batter us with wind and snow. She is not a committed Second, so I cannot ask Wolsey's assistance either. God alone knows what he must think of me at the moment - I dare not ask.
Today has been a long drag of endless clauses and codicils. I am tired, my eyes are strained, and I am absolutely fed up with the clattering on the mullions of the pellets of snow that have not ceased for much of the day. It is only as the evening draws in that the skies clear, and the night promises to be truly bitter. There is another layer of fresh snow on the ground, and all in the Palace are gravitating towards those places that are likely to be the warmest.
Given the weather, Cromwell has decided that we shall not hunt tonight, so instead he walks with me back to my apartments. To set his mind at rest, I produce the sword, and he smiles a rather embarrassed, yet sympathetic, smile at my humiliating predicament, before bidding me goodnight, and departing for his own quarters.
It is as I sit down to a cup of warmed cider that I realise that I have left the keys to my work coffers upon my desk in the Offices. As the papers within them are of a highly confidential kind, I need to keep those keys about my person, for those coffers could cause me great trouble if their contents are disclosed. I have no choice: I must venture out. Cursing to myself, I plan as circuitous a route as I can contrive - as far from the places that the wealthiest of the palace inhabitants would frequent as possible. That way, I should hopefully avoid her: I do not wish to risk carrying my sword - there are too many people about.
My route to the offices is slow, but effective, and I am back at my desk to find that the keys are still where I left them. I am unwilling to leave without being sure that all is well, so I open the coffers, and find that the papers within are undisturbed. Relieved, I lock the coffers again, and return the keys to my scrip.
"Have you been hiding from me, my Lord?"
I turn, and a nervous gasp escapes me - for she is there, beautiful as ever, and her eyes look upon me with a universe of invitation. I look about, furtively, in case any others are present.
"Is this where you work?" she asks, entering the office, her eyes deep, her steps as sensuous as ever. Unable to say a word, I nod. God, she is luminescent…
"I find that those who work…" she looks up at me, almost inviting me to drown in those green pools, "are truly the ones to admire. After all, but for them, we would be truly…helpless…"
I could have her here - now, on my desk, for God's sake…I could…
"I find most of the men of this court - so foolish…pointless…immature…" she continues, softly, "I value experience above all things."
Her hand is rising to my face, but then pauses. "No…not here. I would not wish us to be disturbed. Come to the gardens - to the summerhouse."
"In this weather?" It's perishing outside…hardly conducive to what I assume she has in mind.
"In the summerhouse, we shall warm all - but bring no weapons, for I cannot bear the…hardness…of blades." her voice is laden with suggestion. I have succeeded where all others have failed - for I have her. I have the Lady Midday. Best of all, Cromwell thinks me to be in my chambers, so there is no risk of his disturbing us.
Smiling, her eyes laden with promise, Lady Midday departs. A few moments later, I follow.
The sky above is clear, and the stars sharp. The moon is waning, but offers just sufficient light to see my way through the snow-bright pathways of the secluded garden where we hunted the Revenant when the year turned. I avoid the grotto, for that shall truly be a dreadful place at this moment - stone, water and nothing but cold. The summerhouse, on the other hand, shall be wood and warmth. It shall certainly be warm when we are done.
I know I drew some rather angry stares as I made my way through the passageways of the Court, for I suspect the men who look at me know who I am following, and that I do so at her invitation. Her steps, and her skirts, have cleared a wide pathway through the ice-crusted whiteness, marking an easy path to follow. I imagine I am leaving one equally clear - but all that shall do is proclaim my conquest in the face of other, younger men who must wish that it is they following this trail rather than I.
The summerhouse is set away from the ornamental gardens, on the other side of a rather pretty lake that houses trout in the summer for the kitchens. Despite its name, it is a solidly built affair intended to resemble a bucolic peasants' barn, where those highly placed enough can rest beside the lake and pretend that they are simple country folk, without the accompanying realities of poverty, hunger, filth and endless toil. Today, however, it sports a thick layer of ice that helpfully reflects the moonlight, and leads me on. Lady Midday awaits me in that summer house…
By the time I reach the door, she is there, her eyes vivid with light, her expression luminous. God, she is so magnificent, and she has come here for me. For me…
No sooner are we inside than she has her hands at my throat, reaching for the clasp of my cloak, which quickly falls to the ground. Her hands then reach for my face, and she is so close to me that I can hardly breathe for excitement, "You have come to me…" her voice is low, laden with promise, and I lean forward to snatch a kiss - only for her to pull back with a light laugh, "you poor, stupid fool - you have come to me. And I shall kill you."
Even as she speaks, her words enter my ears, but their meaning does not reach my inflamed brain, for I am far too enthralled at their honeyed tones. I groan with anticipation at the sensation of her hands at the buttons of my doublet, unfastening them as fast as she can, until she can reach in to the thin cambric beneath, her lips at my throat, as I stumble back to the wall, "When I have bared you," she continues, breathily, "I shall carve open your belly and feast upon your spleen."
The statement make no sense to me, drowning in the sweetness of her voice. All I can feel is her closeness, that maddening fire of need. God, she is intoxicating…I want her...I want this…God, I do…
"And as I chew upon your bloody liver," her words drip like syrup into my mind through the rushing of blood in my ears, "I shall give thanks to my goddess Lamashtu for my feasting, and the rewards she shall place upon me for destroying the Second of the Raven, as Zaebos failed to do."
My doublet is unbuttoned, and she reaches up to my shirt, clutching each side in her hands as though she intends to rip the garment open - and I want her to do it, my eyes closed tight and my breathing growing ever quicker. I don't care that it's cold. I don't care about the damage - I have plenty of shirts. I just want her to…
"What the hell are you doing?" An angry voice cuts across us, "You bastard! She's mine!"
I am startled from my reverie by the sight of Wyatt, his eyes mad with rage and jealousy. How is he here? God, he must have followed me - and I thought I would not be disturbed…
"If she is yours," I snap back, "Then why is she here with me? She has no wish to be with a mere boy such as you! Get away from here and leave me to my pleasure, damn you!"
"What can you offer her? You are nothing but a lawyer, how can that excite one so vital as she?"
"I am not a boy!" I shout back, as furious as he, "And I can offer her far more than vile poetry that speaks of private parts - and seeks to find five hundred words to describe her quim!"
"I can offer her my soul!" Wyatt cries back, wildly, "For at least I can say that I have one!"
"And to how many whores have you offered that soul? Can they even be counted? I cannot claim that mine is truly clean, but it is cleaner than yours!"
"Says he who perjured himself in open court to send a man to his death!"
"And what of you, he whose calf love drove a woman to the block?" Even as the words are out of my mouth, I know I have gone too far, but it is too late now, and he stares at me, his eyes filled with pain. Oddly, however, it seems to cool his ardour for the Lady Midday, for now he is looking at her, and at me, as though he has been somewhere entirely different.
"God, Richard - what is happening? Why are we arguing like this?" He is confused - and no longer interested in the woman whose tryst he has interrupted. For a moment, I frown. What does he mean?
"Enough!" the voice I hear is no longer sweet, or laden with promise of sweeter things to come, "You are here now, Second, and that is all that I need!" And I turn back to her.
"Jesu, God and all the Angels!" Appalled, I stumble back into the far wall of the summer house, for her beauty is gone, replaced by a creature of hideous aspect that I cannot ever have imagined could have existed. Or have I? Somehow, there is something there as though I dreamed it…
"Run, Richard!" Wyatt shouts at me, "For God's sake, run!" and he wrenches open the door. I am not far behind him.
The screech that our flight inspires is terrifying, all the more so in that it is not so much chagrin but excitement at the chase to come. I know, however, that it is me who she intends to capture - if Wyatt can escape, then he can find Cromwell. If I can last long enough, then there may be hope yet that I shall live. Thus, as he runs about the edge of the lake, I place myself before the Lady as bait once again; and, in order to do so, attempt a more direct route: onto the ice.
I have no idea if that layer of frozen water is thick enough to bear my weight - but such is my fear that I do not care. Whatever is behind me is far more deadly than that which is beneath my feet, and I run as fast as I can manage on the snow-covered surface. I can hear horrible cracking beneath me, but as long as I keep going, with God's help, I should be safe.
I know that I cannot hope to reach the safety of the palace - despite being in far better condition than I used to be. It is too far away; I should be run to ground and murdered long before I could find help - and the only help that could possibly be effective now is Cromwell's. God help me, how could I have been such an idiot? I have left myself in the sights of a demon, with no weapon and no means of either escape or assistance. I cannot be certain that Wyatt has escaped, for he is lost to my view now, and my only concern is reaching the other side of the lake without slipping on the ice or, worse, falling through it into the deadly cold water below, as some of the cracking sounds are truly frightening.
As I reach the other side, grateful to return to the solidity of the ground, I know that I am leaving a trail that even Will Somers could follow. There must be some parts of the gardens that are trodden - even though more snow fell today - if I can reach those, then I have more of a chance to hide: for hide I must. I cannot outrun her.
"Run all you want, Second!" her sibilant voice rings in my ears behind me, "I shall find you, for I am the Huntress! Lamashtu knows the threat you bring, for without your knowledge, the Raven cannot defeat her! I shall eviscerate you, and feast upon you! And then she shall destroy the Raven once and for all - and this island shall be ours for all time!"
Even as I stumble on through the drifts, I am not sure whether I am afraid of her words, or irked at her rather childish need to gloat at me. Once, I would have known only terror, but now that is mingled with an experienced annoyance at the need all infernal beings seem to have to mock those they chase or capture. Then I trip over something I cannot see in the snow, and I fall. As I flounder, and look behind me, I realise how close she is; suddenly my annoyance is gone - and all that remains is fear.
Scrambling back to my feet, I finally manage to get into the concealment of the high hedges. There is still snow here, but much less - though the ice is thick and I keep slipping. If I can find somewhere that will truly conceal my footprints, then I can force my way into one of the yew hedges - and that might be sufficient to conceal me; depending upon how good her nose is. I can only hope that it is less keen than her eyes.
I emerge into a wide space set with parterre beds. Here, the snow is thick again - but has been trodden, as I had hoped. Scurrying across a path, I head for the thickest of the yew, and force myself in between the branches at the base. Please God, don't let her see what I am doing…it would be all but impossible to escape if she came across me now…
There is, fortunately, no sign of her, and I force myself to calm down, to quell as best I can the fear that is beating at me almost as violently as my racing heart. My breathing is still fast - though now it is from fear and exertion, rather than desire. I must not move, I must keep my breath as invisible as I can…there is a long icicle nearby, hanging from a thicker branch. I pluck it down and suck upon it - if my mouth is cold, then my breath should not mist. Now to remain still - absolutely still…as Cromwell does…if she finds me, then I am a dead man…
I stop moving, and shut my eyes. It is my ears that I need now, for her steps upon the crusty snow are my best hope of knowing she is near; and I hear them…God help me, I can hear them…
Cardinal…I need your aid - there must be something I can do to escape this…help me…
She is close…Jesu, she is close…keep still…be silent...keep still…she is breathing…I can hear it…like a death rattle…like my death rattle…God save me…
Her footsteps continue, and I risk opening my eyes to see her move on, exiting the garden. Perhaps I should flee - but I do not dare. If she were to hear me as I fought my way out of the hedge…but I know I cannot stay much longer, for the cold is bitter, and I have no cloak. My clothes are thick with the snow that adhered to them when I fell; my doublet is still open, and the air is cruel as it cuts across my throat and blows under the cambric of my shirt.
I have no idea how long she is gone, as I cannot hear the Palace clock: it feels like forever. My teeth are chattering, and I cannot stop myself from shivering violently - if I stay for much longer, I am sure that the cold shall kill me; but, I think to myself, it is better that than to be devoured alive…
"I know where you are, Second. The hedge shakes with you. Come out - or be dragged out. Which is your preference?" How is it that I thought her voice sweet as honey? Now it sounds harsh and grating - a hoarse noise that fills me with revulsion in place of lust.
I feel as though my limbs have frozen solid, but I refuse to let her have power over me - not while there is still time for Cromwell to find us. As long as I am free to move, I can still run; or, at least, I think I can. Moving slowly, for I cannot move quickly, I emerge from the hedge, and stand to face the hideous demon that had so startled me when I held my sword in my hands.
My sword…God, what wouldn't I give to have that in my hands now…
She is staring at me, her eyes evil where once they were pools of green in which I could have happily drowned myself. How on earth did she manage to seduce me so? Each time I saw her, it was as though my reason fell away, and all that I knew was desire. I can remember it now - all of it - and it both sickens and embarrasses me. No wonder she made Cromwell gag in her presence.
It's then that I hear Wolsey's voice - weak, faint…he has nothing here to which he can anchor himself, and yet still he tries…and finally, the words come to me…Lezviye k moyey ruke.
The words make no sense to me, and I know that they are not of the English language - but I know full well that Wolsey would not betray me. Insult me, pick holes in my arguments, yes - but not that. Keeping my eyes on the Huntress, I repeat the words. They must make sense in some context. I can only hope that it shall do so in a fashion that shall keep me alive for a while longer.
For a moment, all is still - until I feel a strong urge to hold out my right hand. As I do so, my fingers close about the hilt of my sword as it seems to materialise out of nothingness; firm and solid in my grip. How the hell did it get here? What did I just do? I stare at it, dumbly, but only for a moment, as the Huntress laughs at me.
"A weapon? Is that all that you can offer against me? No weapon can harm one of my kind - I am but one step below dread Lamashtu! Even a silver weapon has but little effect upon one such as I!"
I cannot answer her; I instead pull away the scabbard and discard it. All that I need from my sword is to keep her at bay until help reaches me: nothing more. If I can repel her until we are three again, then we can drive her away and I can return to the Palace, and then find my way to Grant's Place to find a means of destroying her - even if I have to row there myself. If I must, then I shall feign illness and remain in my apartments until the weather breaks to ensure she cannot ensnare me again.
Screeching with laughter, she launches herself at me. I have little time to react, and my strike is instinctive, thanks to the hours of practice that I was obliged to undertake last year. The blade connects, and I hear a shriek - but a shriek of pain. I turn, and she is clutching at her arm, which bleeds black bile from a wound that does not close. My God - the blade…it's wounded her…
"This cannot be!" she wails, raging, "Not even a silver blade can harm me!"
Finally, I have something to say to her, "And what of the Damask blade?"
It is immediately clear to me that the words mean nothing to her, but she screeches again, this time in anger, and comes at me a second time. As before, I react instinctively, and she stumbles away, her clawed hand now clutching at a cut in her side, "This cannot be!" her plaint rises once more, "This cannot be!"
"But it is." I tell her firmly, "Do you wish to withdraw, or shall we end it now?"
Her head turns, her face a vile grimace of fury, "Curses upon you, Second! Curses upon you! Lamashtu demanded your death from me, and so I shall supply it!" And she hurls herself at me, her arms flailing wildly, the claws sharp and flashing through the air. Quite why she has done so from so far away, I do not know, for she has given me ample time to prepare, and my cut as I deprive her of her head is absolutely clean.
Her head topples to the side, and her body seems to hang where it is for a moment - until it, too, falls. I am, however, not quick enough to avoid the left hand as it slices past me, the two longest claws cutting a pair of thin gashes through the cambric of my shirt and drawing blood from the skin beneath. Damn and blast it - I should have turned and taken it upon my arm - my sleeve is padded. I am still annoyed with myself as she falls to dust. At least John can clean the wounds upon my chest - I shall not need that blasted remedy that I hate so much.
"Richard? Where are you! Call to me!" I can hear Cromwell's voice at long last, as he seeks me out. He shall be most impressed, I think, that I have saved myself…I turn to call him, and my balance falters, causing me to stagger slightly. Clearly the cold and tiredness has affected me more than I expected. Perhaps Cromwell shall lend me his clock…no, cloak…what was I saying?
Bemused, I try to walk towards the exit of the garden, but my legs seem to no longer want to obey me, so instead I try to call out to Cromwell…but the words that I speak tumble from my mouth in a tangle of confusion that makes no sense even to me. Then, as he appears at the entrance way, I notice that there are two of him, and that they look oddly blurred…I cannot understand why, but then everything turns over, and goes black.