“You are right, William. It is not in the nature of lions to dally with mice and other insignificant creatures.” The queen’s disdain somehow managed to diminish Matthew to the size of a small boy. Once he looked suitably contrite—though the muscle ticking in his jaw made me wonder how sincere his remorse really was—she took a moment to steady herself, her hands retaining a white-knuckled grip on the chair’s arms.
“I wish to know how my Shadow bungled matters so badly.” Her voiced turned plaintive. “The emperor has alchemists aplenty. He does not need mine.”
Walter’s shoulders lowered a fraction, and Cecil smothered a sigh of relief. If the queen was calling Matthew by his nickname, then her anger was already softening.
“Edward Kelley cannot be plucked from the emperor’s court like a stray weed, no matter how many roses grow there,” Matthew said. “Rudolf values him too highly.”
“So Kelley has succeeded at last. The philosopher’s stone is in his possession,” Elizabeth said with a sharp intake of breath. She clutched at the side of her face as the air hit her sore tooth.
“No, he hasn’t succeeded—and that’s the heart of the matter. So long as Kelley promises more than he is able to produce, Rudolf will never part with him. The emperor behaves like an inexperienced youth rather than a seasoned monarch, fascinated by what he cannot have. His Majesty loves the chase. It fills his days and occupies his dreams,” Matthew said impassively.
The sodden fields and swollen rivers of Europe had put us at a considerable distance from Rudolf II, but there were moments when I could still feel his unwelcome touch and acquisitive glances. In spite of the May warmth and the fire blazing in the hearth, I shivered.
“The new French ambassador writes to me that Kelley has turned copper into gold.”
“Philippe de Mornay is no more trustworthy than your former ambassador—who, as I recall, attempted to assassinate you.” Matthew’s tone was perfectly poised between obsequiousness and irritation. Elizabeth did a double take.
“Are you baiting me, Master Roydon?”
“I would never bait a lion—or even the lion’s cub,” Matthew drawled. Walter closed his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to witness the inevitable devastation. “I was badly scarred after one such encounter and have no desire to mar my beauty further for fear that you could no longer abide the sight of me.”
There was a shocked silence, broken at last by an unladylike bellow of laughter. Walter’s eyes popped open.
“You got what you deserved, sneaking up on a young maid when she was sewing,” Elizabeth said with something that sounded very much like indulgence. I shook my head slightly, sure I was hearing things.
“I shall keep that in mind, Majesty, should I happen upon another young lioness with a sharp pair of shears.”
Walter and I were now as confused as Bess. Only Matthew, Elizabeth, and Cecil seemed to understand what was being said—and what was not.
“Even then you were my Shadow.” The look Elizabeth gave Matthew made her appear to be a girl again and not a woman fast approaching sixty. Then I blinked, and she was an aging, tired monarch once more. “Leave us.”
“Your . . . M-majesty?” Bess stammered.
“I wish to speak to Master Roydon privately. I don’t suppose he will permit his loose-tongued wife out of his sight, so she may stay, too. Wait for me in my privy chamber, Walter. Take Bess with you. We shall join you presently.”
“But—” Bess protested. She looked about nervously. Staying near the queen was her job, and without protocol to guide her she was at sea.
“You shall have to help me instead, Mistress Throckmorton.” Cecil took several painful steps away from the queen, aided by his heavy stick. As he passed by Matthew, Cecil gave him a hard look. “We will leave Master Roydon to see to Her Majesty’s welfare.”
When the queen waved the grooms out of the room, the three of us were left alone.
“Jesu,” Elizabeth said with a groan. “My head feels like a rotten apple about to split. Could you not have chosen a more opportune time to cause a diplomatic incident?”
“Let me examine you,” Matthew requested.
“You think to provide me care that my surgeon cannot, Master Roydon?” said the queen with wary hope.
“I believe I can spare you some pain, if God wills it.”
“Even unto his death, my father spoke of you with longing.” Elizabeth’s hands twitched against the folds of her skirt. “He likened you to a tonic, whose benefits he had failed to appreciate.”