Serpent Never Sleeps

  The king drank deeply from a wine flask he took from his doublet and, after a moment, instructed Carr to see that Anthony Foxcroft was released.

  "A mistake, Your Majesty," Carr objected. "Foxcroft must be taught a lesson. We'll introduce him to the rack."

  The rack was an ancient device which the king had improved since the time when he ruled the Scots and wished to rid the land of witches. Those he condemned as witches were fastened to the contraption. Wheels were turned, and as they turned, legs and arms and joints were slowly stretched out of shape, inch by inch.

  "Show it to him, at least," Carr said. "And introduce him to the leg iron."

  This was a clamp, an invention of the king, which fit the leg from ankle to knee and was screwed tight gradually, snapping the bones.

  "Foxcroft's an arrogant fellow," Carr said.

  "Arrogant, like all the young," the king said.

  "Arrogant now, a conspirator later," Carr said. "Nits grow up to be lice."

  I tried to stifle the cry that rose in my throat. To no avail. As it echoed in the meadow, Carr gave me a curious look.

  "Why does the fate of this arrogant youth concern you so much that you cry out like a wounded stag?"

  I didn't try to answer.

  "You gave us Foxcroft's story with great emotion. Tears were in your voice. You wrung your hands. A pretty act, my dear, a believable story as you imagined it, but one far from the truth. You should be an actress and play Shakespeare's sad Ophelia."

  Still I did not answer. The king noted my silence. "No more of this," he said.

  Robert Carr took heed. Smiling, he said, "I ask your pardon, miss. I did not know until this very moment that you were in love with Anthony Foxcroft. Had I known, most surely I would not have expressed myself in this fulsome way. A thousand pardons!"

  "Enough," the king said. "Send word to London by yonder squire that Foxcroft is to be released."

  Robert Carr stiffened as the king fixed him with the look of one who was sent by God Himself to be His voice here on earth.

  "Move upon this at once," the king said.

  Carr hesitated. He had beautiful pink and white skin. Lustrous auburn locks framed a girlish face with a small red mouth that he set in an angry pout upon hearing the king's command.

  A brief contest of glances followed. Then the king said, "Move or else you will be the worse for it."

  Robert Carr bowed stiffly and went off at a leisurely pace to deliver the message which he did not like at all. When he returned, the king asked where the pretty buck and the seven fat doe were hiding. Before Carr could answer, a horn sounded and a herd of deer broke cover. The buck brushed past me, so close I could feel its hot breath.

  King James aimed his gun and brought it down with a single shot.

  "Bravo!" Carr shouted. "For three days you haven't used your gun, yet you shoot with your same deadly ease."

  The king laughed. He was very proud of his skill as a huntsman, and I knew that he hunted whenever he had the chance. When he came to England to be crowned, surrounded by thousands of admirers, he spied deer grazing in a pasture, leaped from his horse, and killed three. And as soon as he was crowned, he started off with his gun to visit estate after estate to kill more.

  Retainers shouted "halloo," took out their sharp knives, and busied themselves with the carcass. I started off to find my brother, who had edged away, but the king grasped my arm and led me to where the sharp knives were flashing.

  He scooped up some of the stag's blood, washed his hands in it, and spread some on his padded chest. Reaching out, he daubed my forehead with a bloody finger.

  Shocked, forgetful that I stood in the presence of a king, I recoiled at his touch.

  "It is a talisman," Carr explained.

  "More, much more," the king said.

  He climbed up and stood in the steaming carcass. In the mist that swirled about him he was truly a kingly figure, as if he had taken some strength from the blood of the slain deer.

  "'Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble,'" he said, quoting from Macbeth. "'Twill burn the witch's brood," he added, quoting himself.

  Scrambling out of the carcass, he wiped his hands upon Carr's silk doublet. From his little finger he took a ring and slipped it on the middle finger of my right hand. It fit perfectly.

  Carr frowned, albeit he must have grown used to the king's generosity. It was well known throughout the land that His Majesty liked to dispense to his favorites pretty baubles and fine jewelry, also hills and rivers and castles. In one generous afternoon, he had created more than thirty knights, twelve barons, three dukes, two earls, and a handful of baronets.

  "A princely gift," Carr explained. Then, taking my silence for ingratitude, he said, "Stand not like a little churl. Open your pretty mouth and thank His Majesty."

  Summoning my breath and all my wits, I did so and made something of a curtsy besides.

  "You will see," the king said, taking my hand, "that the ring you wear takes the form of a serpent. The serpent's coiled thrice round in a circle, thus depicting the soul from birth to ascension. You will also see that the jeweled eyes are half-closed. Do not be deceived. Neither night nor day, in all of life's strange maneuvers, do the eyes ever sleep. Beneath their hooded lids they silently observe, and upon what they observe, should it threaten your life, they quickly, act.

  The king dropped my hand. It burned. My throat burned. My forehead burned.

  "Guard the ring well," he said, "and it shall guard you."

  "From what?" I stammered.

  "From harm."

  "From all harm? Forever?"

  "Forever, but not from all. There are many harms, too many. Not from those that arise from jealousy and from greed, especially. Only from those that threaten your precious life shall my serpent guard you."

  "And guard you it shall," Robert Carr said, aware that I was puzzled. "The serpent ring is the king's magic mark and sign."

  His Majesty placed a hand upon my shoulder. It was a powerful hand, a sovereign's hand. His dark eyes rested upon me. No longer soft and wandering, they were the eyes of a king. He had changed. Had the blood of the slain stag changed him? Was it now coursing through his veins?

  Silent under his spell, I stood transfixed. At last I opened my mouth. "Thank you, thank you, sire," I stuttered.

  The king nodded and turned to Robert Carr. I made out little of what he said, for his words came rapidly, both in Latin and in French, mixed up with blood-tingling oaths.

  He paused, wiped his beard, which he had drooled upon, and gave me a message for my mistress.

  "We've changed our minds," he said with a sly smile for Robert Carr. "Let Arondon wait. Inform Countess Diana that we'll attend her masque."

  Carr mumbled something under his breath, but the king went on.

  "We'll be there if not pinked by an assassin's knife or befouled by a coven of witches. And tell the countess not to trouble herself about food and shelter. Pavilions shall be brought for all. Victuals and varlets to prepare them. Robert will see to everything, won't you, dear boy?"

  I desperately wanted to ask him when Anthony Foxcroft would be freed, but I thought the better of it. He had promised to come to the masque. Certainly he wouldn't come if Anthony were still in custody. I bowed, albeit my knees tried to betray me, and was about to leave when the king grasped my hand and pointed to the ring.

  "You tend to be a fearsome lass," he said. "But fear no longer."

  Struck dumb, I bowed and, without so much as a word of thanks, fled from his presence.

  THREE

  The shot the king had fired and his blue and green banners afloat in the meadow had brought the castle to life. Heads showed at every window as I ran up the path. Countess Diana herself was on the terrace, pacing back and forth, trailed by a crowd of servants.

  I ran up the long flight of steps and arrived in her presence gasping for breath. "The king's in the meadow," I stammered. "I talked to him only two moments ago. Im
agine talking to King James of England! He talked on and on, just like a person. He asked me questions. He admires my handwriting. He sent, he sent you..."

  I had to pause for breath. The countess reached out and gave me a shake. She was short, immensely fat, and very, very strong. Her fingers bit hard.

  "Sent me what?" she said calmly.

  "A message. Anthony is free. And the king is coming to the masque!"

  She jumped to her feet and threw her hands in the air and danced in a circle. Then she sat down and caught her breath and smiled, showing her dimples, two deep ones on each side of her mouth.

  Countess Diana smiled a lot, whether the word was good or bad. The year before, for instance, when word had come that three of her ships had been lost in a storm off the African coast, with all of the crews and more than two hundred black slaves, she smiled and said, "I still have three ships left."

  She grasped me by the wrists. "Are you sure that Anthony is free?"

  "The king sent a messenger to London to attend to the matter."

  "What a boon! The news lifts my heart!"

  She released the grip on my wrists. Her sharp eyes took notice of the smudge on my forehead. "Blood," she said. "A gift from the king?"

  "Yes. Just now in the meadow after he killed a stag. It's a talisman, Robert Carr said. The king said it is much, much more. But I am puzzled. What can it be?"

  "His Majesty believes that standing in the open body of the stag gives him strength, which he needs, having a crooked leg. He also believes that the blood with which he washed his hands and daubed your forehead has power. It is a mystical power that opens the door into a secret world. You believe in none of his nonsense, do you?"

  I scarcely heard her question. My head was going round. I had seen the king of England. I had talked to him. I had stood close enough to touch him. I had seen him send a messenger to London to free Anthony Foxcroft. He had invited me to come to London. Upon my finger I wore his magic ring. His pledge rang in my ears.

  The countess gave me a disgusted glance. "You must believe in the king's nonsense or you would not be in such a swoon."

  Before I could answer, she caught the sultry glow of the circlet His Majesty had given me. She grasped my hand.

  She drew me aside because servants were listening, slipped the ring from my finger, and examined the inward side of the gold band.

  "I make out a unicorn," she said, more to herself than to me. "'Twas His Majesty's sign in the days he was king of the Scots. Where did you find it? In the meadow, by chance, where the king was hunting?"

  "I didn't find it. It was a present from the king."

  Squinting, she stared at me. Her pale, near-sighted eyes darkened. "Why would the king give you a ring? A ring of any value? For what possible reason? Now don't lie to me, don't you dare! Tell me the truth."

  "We were talking and the king asked how I was employed at Foxcroft and I told him. Later he gave me the ring."

  "His Majesty and I are friends," she said. "Clearly he gave you the ring but meant it for me, to make amends for holding my son in jeopardy. With such a valuable gift, he could not have dreamed for a moment of anything else."

  She had rings on every finger, even her thumbs, and she tried the circlet here and there until she found a finger where it fit. She held her hand up to the struggling sun and smiled. Then she squinted at my forehead again.

  "Go to your room," she said. "Take a big handful of soap and wash off the bloody stain. 'Tis of no use against witchery. Or for that matter, against any of life's mischances. Nothing is, save common sense."

  "I shall be glad to wash it off, Countess. 'Tis very uncomfortable."

  "Please do so at once!"

  I went to my room and washed the mark away, using two handfuls of scented soap. Yet, strangely, when I combed my hair in front of the mirror as I got ready for breakfast, the mark had not disappeared. It was in the middle of my forehead, right where the king had traced it with his jeweled finger.

  For fear the countess would send me back to my room when she discovered that I still carried the king's mark, I decided to eat breakfast in the kitchen, not with her in her bedroom as I usually did. Later, I'd work on the spot with the harsh yellow soap the servants used for the dishes. But I had no sooner reached the kitchen and begun to eat than she appeared, leaned over the table, and squinted at me.

  "You've rubbed the skin off," she said. "The king's ugly mark is gone. An odd man, King James. When he comes to Foxcroft he always hunts by the river, as you know, and appears covered with blood. Do not quail if he wishes to daub you again. Appear honored, make a bow, and thank him. I hope you did so this morning."

  "I don't know what I did."

  "Did he give you the ring before or afterward?"

  "Afterward."

  "Then you didn't insult him. He insults easily and doesn't forget. Remember my advice when he comes to Foxcroft for the masque."

  "I shall."

  Countess Diana, who had decided to eat with me in the kitchen, picked at her smoked herring. She ate like a bird. I often marveled that she could look so much like a female Buddha on the morsels she carefully selected to put in her stomach. I marveled, too, at her son, who could consume platefuls of venison and suet dressing yet remain as thin as she was enormously fat.

  The countess divided her smoked herring into three pieces and gave them to the three piebald cats weaving in and out between her feet. "You told me that the king laughed," she said, "when he heard the story, and that he told Carr to see that Anthony was freed. What did Robert Carr say?"

  "Carr advised the king to keep Anthony in jail for a while. At least to show him the rack and the leg clamps. He said that Anthony was an arrogant young upstart and needed a lesson—that nits grew up to be lice."

  "You'll remember the two of them quarreled here at Foxcroft. That was two years ago at a masque. I've forgotten what started it, but Carr challenged Anthony to a duel with two-handed swords. Anthony, because he is not a swordsman, refused the challenge. Then he challenged Carr to a duel with pistols, which Carr refused. They don't like each other, which is unfortunate, because Robert Carr is the king's favorite."

  "I was terribly afraid all the time we were talking that the king would take Carr's advice and give Anthony a scare."

  "Anthony has needed a scare," the countess said. "He's become something of a monster, a sweet monster, 'tis true, but a monster nonetheless. He seeks out danger, hatches quarrels the way Sir Walter did. He's as arrogant as Raleigh was when that swashbuckler was young. He adores Raleigh. He even had a painting of Raleigh in his room, where he could see it when he awakened in the morning. And a pair of Raleigh's rusty swords, which he bought in London, crossed just so and hung up beneath the painting."

  She picked a crumb from her plate and studied it, trying to decide whether to put it in her mouth.

  Hunting horns blew in the meadow, and I heard the sound of galloping hoofs moving away toward the south.

  "I think the king plans to bring a large party to the masque," I said. "But he says for you not to trouble yourself. He'll bring tents, victuals, and cooks."

  "The king always says that. Last year he came to Covington with one hundred twenty-five and stayed for a week. Twelve of his guests, and most notably the earl of Southhampton, his lady, and their three children, were afraid to sleep in a tent. Sir John Lambert of Edinburgh and his two daughters had bad colds and couldn't sleep in tents. A baronet and his guest were sleeping in the carriage house. Isn't 'baronet' a silly title? The king invented it, and now we have as many baronets as there are fish in the sea."

  The sound of hoofs faded away. Countess Diana ate the crumb she had been toying with, licked her plump fingers, admired her new ring, and after a while said to me, "Considering why I present the masque, searching your deepest thoughts, what do you suggest for the subject? Something historical, don't you think? But nothing Greek or Roman, and I have done one about Malik al-Kamil, sultan of Egypt, and the English crusaders."

/>   She got up to let the cats into the wine cellar, which lately had become the home of a horde of long-tailed, green-eyed vermin. As I went on with my breakfast, I gave serious thought to the question.

  Truthfully, she was presenting the masque for one reason: to raise funds for the Jamestown colony in Virginia, which was in the gravest danger. Settlers were dying like summer flies—three and four a day from ague, starvation, and Indian arrows. Pitifully, fewer than a fifth of the one hundred ten who went out in 1607, just two years before, were still alive. Another winter and nobody would be left. Like Sir Walter Raleigh's settlement in Roanoke, the colony would be nothing save ashes and sad memories.

  But the countess's concern about Jamestown and its dying settlers did not arise from a soft heart. It came from a very hard head. She owned shares in the London company that furnished the ships, collected the settlers, and sent them off on a four-thousand-mile journey across the sea. Shareholders hoped to gain profits from the plentiful resources in the New World. They knew of the vast tracts of fertile land, forests, winding rivers, clear lakes, rolling hills. They also expected to receive gold, and lots of it, and shiploads of silver, too.

  Friends and enemies alike mistook Diana. The sly smile, the pretty dimples, the childish voice, all were apt to deceive. But beneath the mounds of pink flesh her spine was made of Damascus steel, and in her veins, it often seemed to me, flowed the blood of a dragon.

  She was born a commoner and a beauty. Before fat engulfed her, when she was only plump, she caught the eye of the earl of Foxcroft, a very wealthy man who had made a fortune gathering slaves along the African coast and selling them to the Spanish planters in the West Indies.

  When the earl broke his neck chasing a little red fox, he left his fortune and a fleet of three seaworthy ships to Countess Diana. Instead of selling the fleet and living a life of leisure at Foxcroft, she surprised many by continuing her husband's practice of gathering slaves along the African coast. In a short time she had doubled the number of ships and the business among the Spanish sugar cane growers in the West Indies.