know not,” the gentleman answered.
“Come, sir,” Roderigo insisted. “Surely you were informed—”
“I was told to call you to court,” the boy said. “One does not inquire about the Queen’s business if one wishes to keep his head.”
Roderigo swallowed dryly.
“I shall prepare to leave at once.”
“A steed shall be waiting for you.” The messenger turned on his heels and left.
Revolting little roach, Roderigo thought. Unbecoming for a Queen to use such young rats as messengers. The little worm had a voice as cold as snow. It had sent a shiver through Roderigo’s spine. He looked up and saw Rebecca carrying an armful of vials.
“Come, daughter,” he said. “Tarry not. Place the medicines in my bag.”
She did as instructed, then looped an amulet around his neck. This one was arsenic paste sewed in dog skin, she explained.
“It will guard you against Black Death should the Queen be inflicted.” She pulled out a white crystal pebble from a jug. “Open up.”
Roderigo stared at the crystal. His mother-in-law had always insisted that the salts protected better than any charm the “wisemen” wore. Its taste was bitter, though not as bitter as the plague, Roderigo thought. He’d treated many patients steeped in Black Death, and not once had he or a member of his family been cursed with the disease. The hag might be a wretched old thing, but her potions were strong and effective. There were already mutterings that the false Protestants were not only secret Jews, but agents of Satan as well. How else could they circumvent the ubiquitous plague?
Marry, Roderigo thought, let them mutter. I shall live. He plucked the salt out of Rebecca’s hand and swallowed it.
“I shall take one also,” Rebecca announced.
“For what purpose?” Roderigo asked.
“Oh Father,” she blurted out. “Let me come to court.”
“Impossible,” Roderigo answered, not unkindly.
“The Queen was very fond of me,” Rebecca reminded him. “She brought me comfits and jellied quince. She loved my singing. My virginal playing made her weep.”
“Another time, Becca,” he said. “Once my favor has been firmly restored in her eyes.”
“If she is ill, I can assist you. I’ve come with you diverse times to visit the ill at St. Bartholomew’s.”
“This is the Queen.”
“How often did I stand by your side when Lord Leicester was ill?”
“He was not the Queen.”
“Her body is still human. If she is ill, I can help—”
“Go away, daughter. I have no time for your foolishness.”
Rebecca knew she should respect his wishes, but the last twenty-four days had been so confining. She envied her brother, off in Venice, her cousins gallivanting about. Only she and Uncle Hector had shown any respect for Raphael. True, she had been his betrothed, but it didn’t seem fair that only she should be cloistered. Rebecca argued,
“Had you not told me I should have been born a man so I could have practiced your chosen profession?”
“But you’re not a man.” Roderigo shook his head. “Aye, not a man at all.”
“I’m better equipped than Ben,” Rebecca said.
Roderigo glared at his daughter, angry at being confronted with the truth. Ben was an open wound in Roderigo’s heart. A wonderful boy, kind and good-hearted, but not as clever as Roderigo had wished. A curse to have a quick-witted daughter and a dull-witted son.
“Even if I would have permitted you to accompany me under ordinary circumstances, I would not allow it now,” he said sternly. “You’re in mourning, Rebecca.”
“I pray you, Father.” She sunk down on her knees and grabbed his hands, kissing his jeweled fingers. “I must leave here. I feel as if I’m being enveloped by the blackness I wear. I must escape or I’ll go mad. I beg of you.”
Roderigo withdrew his hands and said, “Your playacting may have its desired effects on young hearts, Becca, but my ears are deaf to your antics.”
Rebecca’s despair looked honest. Roderigo helped her to her feet and kissed her cheek. He said, “The Queen may have summoned me for reasons other than illness, little one. There is no place for women in politics.”
“Then what is the Queen? A bear? A goose? Aye, she must be a dog because oft you call her a bitch—”
Roderigo slapped her across the face. “Your tongue needs a knotting.”
The slap was a light one—a warning that she’d gone too far. But she remained undeterred. “The Queen’s a woman. Does she not involve herself in politics?”
“Bah,” Roderigo said. “You refuse to give up. Go away, silly Becca. You irritate me and I’m in no mood to be irritated.”
“Please, Father,” she implored. “If you have no need of me, I shall parade my wares around the galleries. Handsome and rich courtiers abound. Many are single, many are very well regarded. Who knows who may buy the merchandise? How am I to find a husband if you keep me locked up in these walls? I ask you so little, Father. Cosset me this one time.”
“You are the most pampered, spoiled, self-indulged young lady I have ever met!” Roderigo said harshly.
But his eyes were smiling. She knew she had won.
“Have your maids prepare you quickly,” he said. “If you’re not done by the time I depart, you shall be left behind.”
Rebecca’s heart took off in wild anticipation. To visit London-town. What a glorious place it was in springtime. Full of excitement and bustle. Stalls packed with the latest wares, ladies on the arms of their lords, bedecked in the most fashionable of dress. New sights and smells. New faces. She wanted to throw herself at her father’s feet and kiss his shoes in gratitude. He was taking her away from these walls, this prison. She should have vowed never to anger him again, should have showered him with obsequious words of praise. Instead all she said was thank you, her voice surprisingly cool and detached.
The Queen was in a foul mood, made even fouler the moment Dr. Lopez walked inside her bedchambers. Her Majesty’s personal sleeping closet, though modest in size, was opulent in style. The walls of the chamber were covered with silk cloth embroidered with the royal coat-of-arms. Velvet drapes sewn with silver and gold thread hung over two arched windows that provided the Queen with a view of the rose gardens. Her Majesty’s poster bed was carved from walnut, its mattress topped with down-filled counterpanes, and velvet and taffety pillows. Elizabeth sat on a throne, positioned to the left of her bed. Next to the royal
