The Secrets of Life and Death (6 page)

It took her a few moments to catch her breath enough to nudge one hip onto the edge of the bed and crawl in. The pyjama bottoms had fallen to the floor. She tugged at the chain, but it didn’t budge.

Jack came back a few minutes later and covered the bucket without comment.

‘Would you like some soup?’ She placed the pyjama trousers on the bed.

‘No,’ Sadie muttered, as Jack lifted the pail.

‘You need to keep your strength up.’

Sadie lifted her arm into the light spilling through the door. It was thin, the bones rolling under the skin, the fingers more like claws.

‘How long have I been here?’

‘A few days.’

‘My mum. She’ll be worried sick.’ Sadie tightened her lips, staring back at the woman, seeing some emotion flashing across her features. After a long pause, Jack shook her head, once.

‘I’m sorry. I really am, Sadie.’

Sadie looked up, the words stalled in her throat.
How do you know my name?

Jack’s voice was soft. ‘I will explain everything to you, when you are a bit better. I was the same as you, twenty years ago. I had the same illness.’

Sadie looked at the shackle on her wrist. Hot tears fell onto the dry skin on her hands.

‘Illness … what was wrong with you?’ Her voice came out cracked, like an old woman’s.

‘Same as you.’ Jack turned to look down from the top of the steps. ‘I was dead.’

‘It is said, in the court of the emperor, that when the Great Palatine of Hungary besought a bride for his only child, Ferenc Nádasdy, he secured an heiress of great wealth and influence. But the young man had no interest in her, but flirted with the most beautiful, the most charming ladies. It was only when the young Erzsébet Báthory grew into womanhood that Nádasdy claimed his bride. But Erzsébet was from a line tainted, it was said, by dragons, witchcraft and by death.’

Edward Kelley
15 November 1585
The King’s Castle at Niepolomice

The arrival of a covered wagon drawn by four black horses and attended by two-dozen outriders and a score of hounds was a spectacle I amused myself with as we waited for the king to grant us an audience. The leader, surely a great man, was wrapped in a bearskin cloak that fell to his boots, and covered his head from the light rain. When he drew it back, I saw that his black beard half covered his brown face, and a hooked nose curved towards his mouth. He glanced up at the battlements, but I doubt he noticed me among the many spectators. A lord – a Lithuanian, much refined – named him for me. Count Ferenc Nádasdy, son of the Great Palatine of Hungary, like our own Lord High Steward, a high position. Nádasdy was the commander of the king’s forces and, the Lithuanian whispered to me, known as the Black Bear.

When the servants let down the steps of the carriage, the giant swung himself off his charger, and strode forward. A manservant left the coach first, carrying various bags. Then the count reached in, and lifted a pale figure wrapped in an embroidered cloth, its head falling onto his arm, no bigger than a child. The white skin, a shade not seen in the living, spoke of death, yet the head turned upon his arm, and the bear bent his head to hear what it said. As he carried his burden – surely sick unto death – across the yard to the great doors beneath us, a linen cap fell into the mud, and a sheet of hair tumbled across his cradling arm and almost to his knees. It was a woman.

When I returned to our room, Dee had news for me.

‘Edward. We are summoned to dine. I am to entertain many noble visitors from Poland and Saxony with some “magical” tricks.’ The tone of his voice was acid, I knew how much he hated performing, although he was a good stage trickster. Almost as good as myself.

I sat on the bench and looked at the meticulous map he was annotating. ‘Master Dee, shall you wear the black doublet?’

He looked up, and stood, stretching his back. ‘The red, I think. Then you may wear my black and we shall both look like gentlemen of her Majesty’s court, and less like vagabonds.’

I opened the press, and began unpacking his clothes, shaking out hose and shirts. The queen had made him a gift of a number of courtly dresses, and he had chosen a doublet in the latest fashion and hose from Italy. The scarlet doublet was tailored to make him look bigger, and fell onto his lean thighs. It would have dwarfed me, and I was glad to tie on the sleeves and ease the shorter jacket about me. I brushed the fine brocade, smoothing off the creases from my packing.

Dee froze at another creak outside our door. ‘Are they there to confine us, or guard us, do you think?’ He blew upon his notebook to dry the ink and replaced it in its calfskin satchel. He looked around for the leather bucket provided instead of a night stool. ‘This isn’t the king’s principal residence,’ he said, over his shoulder, as he pissed. ‘But it is big enough to confer with many of his soldiers and nobles. He has two regiments here on leave from the Turkish front.’ The sultan’s troops, never far away, were capturing territory in Istvan’s homeland of Transylvania.

I laced the doublet, in sober black but with some good-quality embroidery, as the door opened. I smoothed my cap over my ears, as was my custom, to hide the notches there. A moment’s incaution in my youth found me accused of coining. I grew my curly hair long to reduce comment, for it was a cruel injustice.

An armed man, taller even than Dee and filling the doorway, barked a command in Polish. Dee bowed his head, but did not hurry. I held out the coat and fussed about the buttons. He picked up his cane and placed his round hat upon his bushy hair. I ran a comb through his long beard and looked up at him, as he spoke softly.

‘Edward. You know I have eschewed all sorcery.’

‘Indeed, sir.’

‘But seeing you in such danger today, I called upon forces of magic, endangering our immortal souls. We must guard against such necessity. Better that we were both dead than condemned for ever.’

I was still heartily glad not to be resting in the bellies of a dozen wolves, and my face must have shown it.

He smiled. ‘But I am glad you survived, all the same. Come, dear friend.’ His eyes twinkled in the light of the fire. ‘Let us see how the court of King Istvan Báthory compares with that of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth.’

The feasting hall was a long room with a vaulted, smoke-darkened ceiling. It rang with voices and few of the noblemen gave us more than a covert glance. German and Latin were spoken freely, as well as Polish. A huddle of brown-skinned men – Istvan’s vassals from Transylvania, I imagined – spoke in a dialect as full of hissing and spitting as kettles over a fire. They were seated behind the king, and along his left flank. They seemed to dress as if for riding even here, at table, but the Polish noblemen wore trimmed beards, velvets and embroideries, much as in England. Beside the king sprawled the Black Bear, Lord Nádasdy, in courtly attire.

King Istvan, in green velvet dress and a collar of rubies, rose and nodded to us.

‘Doctor Dee,’ he said, in Latin. ‘The court bids you welcome. Please: sit, eat, drink.’

A space appeared on the nobles’ bench and Dee climbed into it. I looked around and saw an area full of soldiers, and insinuated myself onto the end of the seat.

The meal was much as you would have at a hunting lodge in England. There was beef and venison and wine. The bread was almost black, and inedible until soaked in either the meat juices or in drink. Spiced sweetmeats followed the viands, and good cheeses rolled in herbs were brought with dried apples and little cakes.

Finally, the king stood again. The conversations fell away, to leave the sound of the crackling of the fire and the splintering of bones by half a dozen wolfhounds.

The king started speaking in Latin, and dropped in a few words of German and Polish. I got the meaning. The renowned scholar from the court of Queen Erzsébet of England would now demonstrate something. I didn’t catch quite what, but Dee stood up, and walked to the middle of the room.

‘Your Gracious Majesty, my lords.’ He spoke in what we called his theatre voice, in precise Latin. ‘That nature of the universe that we think of as commonplace is far richer and full of mysteries than we see. Take, for example, this cup of wine.’

He held up the horn goblet he had been using, and turned in a flash and threw the contents in the fire. He had moved too fast for some of the Magyars, who jumped to their feet, their weapons half out of their scabbards. The wine hissed like the belly of a dragon, and two of the dogs shrank back, teeth bared. I held my breath, but Dee turned around with a flourish.

He held the goblet at an angle to show the inner surface. It glowed with the brightness of pure gold. The nobles started whispering to each other, leaning forward to see the gilded interior.

‘Some might think: magic, sorcery, witchcraft,’ he intoned.

With each word, the atmosphere in the room stilled further.

Dee continued. ‘But, this, your Majesty, my lords, is natural science. A few drops of a rare alchemical, shared with me by the goldsmiths of Venice, is placed in water, and a pinch of salt is added. The gold, hidden in the liquor, is forced out by the purifying action of the salt and gilds any surface it touches.’

Dee offered the cup to the king who, after a moment, took it. Few others would hold the cup. Clearly, the idea of sorcery was still in their heads.

Some sense of self-preservation made me look around, perhaps a draught was coming from the doorway. A man stood there, leaning against the wall, his dark eyes intent on Dee. His cloak was wet, and covered his dress down to his Italian-style leather boots.

The king leaned back in his chair and smiled. He had a long face, with a strong nose and a weak chin, partly concealed behind his beard. ‘My men tell me that you summoned a circle of flame on the road, which burned without wood. Was that science also?’

Dee bowed. ‘That, your Majesty, is a trick I learned from an Arab on the southern coast of France, an expert in natural science.’ The lies rolled off his tongue.

The man against the wall stepped forward, lifted back his hood, and reached for the cup.

‘Natural science?’ His black beard was close-cropped and framed his mouth, which flashed with even teeth when he grinned. ‘When I hear of flames with no wood, I think of the inferno of hell, and the trickery of demons.’

He placed the cup back on the table. I noticed the Magyars had closed ranks even more, and were staring at the man with a mixture of contempt and fear.

Dee’s voice was serene. ‘No demons, sir, but a secret formula known to the Arabs since Emperor Leo the Wise.’

‘As described in the
Tactica
?’ The man bowed to the king, placing his hands inside the sleeves of his cloak. ‘A book of military strategies, your Majesty. I believe the doctor refers to some formula for Greek fire, much used in the Byzantine era.’

Dee smiled at the man, and bowed. ‘You have the advantage of me, sir.’

The man bowed back like a courtier. ‘The name of the great scholar and alchemist Doctor Dee has reached all the courts of Europe.’ He held his hands aloft, and turned in my direction. ‘And young Master Kelley, who speaks with angels.’ This time his voice had an edge of irony. I stood, nevertheless, and bowed low.

‘Your servant, sir,’ I ventured, in my best Latin. ‘How may we address you, my lord?’

He turned to Dee, again flashing that mouthful of white teeth.

‘I am Reichsritter Johann Konrad von Schönborn.’

A knight of the Holy Roman Empire, in this mongrel court of Lutherans, Catholics and pagan gypsies. He swung his cloak off his shoulders in a flourish, revealing scarlet robes underneath, and a crucifix swinging against his embroidered breast.

‘But you may call me Father Konrad, his Holiness’s representative from the Vatican.’

I felt a shudder run across my shoulders. Istvan had invited the Inquisition.

‘What do you mean, you were dead?’

Jack had been able to drag a struggling Sadie into the warmth of the living room. The teenager had woken more alert this morning, and was installed on one of the two sofas. She seemed less afraid and more defiant now she had a little energy. Jack had no doubt she was looking for an opportunity to escape. Sadie had passed out briefly as she was carried between the circles of the priest hole and the lounge, but was now glowering over a tumbler of herbal decoction. Jack had made buttered toast, the bribe she had offered for choking down the malodorous brew.

‘Dead. Defunct. Expired.’ She lifted the plate of toast over to Sadie. ‘If you drink all the potion you won’t be sick when you eat.’

The girl sipped the drink, her nose wrinkled and her eyes shut.

‘That’s disgusting.’ She put the empty glass down and balanced the plate on her lap. ‘You can’t have been dead.’

Jack hesitated, trying to find the words to explain it to Sadie. ‘I was destined to die nearly twenty years ago. Maggie saved me using this special treatment. The same treatment we are giving you.’

‘What do you mean, destined?’ The girl was looking around the room, her gaze returning again and again to the shackle on the floor where the chain was anchored.

Jack picked a couple of dog hairs off her buttery toast and took a bite while she tried to find the words to explain. ‘I don’t completely understand it,’ she said, ‘but most people just die when their time is up. A few people are special. Their death is
almost
certain but they can, in some circumstances, be saved.’

Sadie scowled. ‘I don’t get it.’ She was like a robin, gaze flitting around the room, looking for a way out, perhaps. Her hand pulled at the metal cuff on her wrist, which had already rubbed a sore patch on the skin, despite the padding of an old sock.

Jack pulled her feet up on the other sofa. The November wind was finding ways through the thin carpet, stretched over gaps between the boards. Each winter was harder to deal with.

‘Touch your pulse, like this,’ Jack said, pressing her wrist with a finger. ‘What does it feel like?’

Sadie put her plate down and curled up into a ball, her knees tight against her chest. But her fingers pressed her wrist, moving, looking for a pulse.