Chapter 37
THE MOON IS FULL AND bright. Elspet looks at its illuminated face, the same face she sees from Orkneyjar. Its familiarity calms her – she knows what she’s doing.
The Queen, flanked by Margaret and Martin Schoner on a long stone bench with feet carved into lion paws, is eating the last mouthful of broth with relish. The moon casts only a faint light into the garden, but Elspet sees some colour returning to her cheeks.
Schoner is silent as he observes the Queen nervously.
‘How do you feel, Your Majesty?’ Elspet asks.
‘Much better, thank you. My head was fit to burst in there. I was so hot. It is good being out in the fresh air.’
Margaret takes the empty bowl from the Queen and places it on the ground. Her expression has swung from concerned that the Queen is eating broth outside from a bowl cradled in her lap, to relieved as she regains her strength. She smiles tightly at Elspet.
Schoner’s presence prevents them from saying what they want to. He scrutinises Elspet with a strange intensity.
Margaret stands and offers her arm to the Queen. ‘I think it’s time you went to your bed, Your Majesty. Do you agree, Lady Alvah?’
‘Yes,’ Elspet says, ‘but let as much air into the room as you can. And perhaps a cinnamon tea – no more wine or ale.’
Schoner looks up sharply as if to argue and then his shoulders slump.
‘Do you concur, Schoner?’ Margaret asks him flatly.
‘Do as she suggests,’ he says begrudgingly.
There is an awkward silence between them as Margaret and the Queen walk away. Elspet looks up at the silver face of the moon, drawing strength from the reassuring familiarity of its grey light.
‘If the Queen loses this baby,’ Schoner whispers, ‘like she has lost them before, I will be expelled from court – if not worse. The King has spoken to me of his desperation for an heir. It is the same for every King of course, but for him there is more to it. There is talk of him . . . not being a complete man. That he comes from . . . poisoned stock.’
He speaks falteringly, with none of his usual swagger and confidence; telling her these things could be considered treason.
And while some of those at court think nothing of mocking and insulting the King in the shadows, Schoner is an outsider and cannot afford to be one of them.
She moves to sit down on the bench, a respectful distance away but close enough to show she’s listening.
‘Not to mention,’ Schoner continues, ‘he believes a healthy male heir is the key to becoming King of England. He has impressed upon me in no uncertain terms that if this child is not carried to full term, and born healthy, he will hold me responsible.’
‘But nobody can guarantee the safe arrival of a bairn,’ Elspet says, ‘even the most skilled physician.’
Schoner shrugs. ‘The King doesn’t see it that way.’ He looks at her in silence for a moment before speaking again. ‘I know the Queen is taking daily walks in the garden – is that on your advice too?’
Elspet falters. Will he report back about her to the King or the Earl of Mar? But he’s already seen so much of her role caring for the Queen. And she finds herself wanting to tell him something of the truth. He is a medical man after all; she wishes they could share knowledge.
‘Yes.’
‘And these strange weeds from the sea the apothecary is bringing her, they’re not just a treat to remind her of Denmark, are they? You have also prescribed those for her?’
Elspet clears her throat. This man has seen more than they gave him credit for. ‘Yes.’
‘And the apples each morning – is that also on your advice?’
‘Yes.’
They sit in silence. Elspet looks at Schoner, and Schoner stares out into the middle distance.
‘She has seemed much better,’ he admits, ‘until tonight, of course. Before this episode, I have been happy with her progress, much more confident she will give the King the heir he so desperately seeks. I don’t know how you came to know the things you do, to have this understanding of how to care for the Queen. Perhaps it is sheer luck.’
Elspet gives the physician a smile she hopes is humble but reassuring. ‘Perhaps. Thank you for listening to me earlier.’
Schoner takes a deep breath and stands. ‘I only hope that you continue to be right, for all our sakes. Goodnight, Lady Alvah.’
As the physician leaves, Elspet sees a figure move behind the elm trees that line the wall of Holyrood palace. The Earl of Bothwell steps out, an arrogant smirk firmly in place. Her heart lurches – how much has he heard?
‘I must congratulate you.’ He swaggers over to where she’s sitting. ‘The Queen is looking well again.’
‘Thank goodness for Schoner’s expertise,’ Elspet says quickly.
Bothwell is examining her face closely. ‘Indeed.’
‘I thought you were performing in the masque,’ Elspet says, changing the subject. ‘Will you not be missed?’
‘I’ve finished my small part. I’m not trusted with anything important, I’m afraid. I may be pardoned but I’m not forgiven.’
He can hardly be surprised at this, given the treasonous things he continues to say about the King, but Elspet keeps this thought to herself.
She suddenly feels exhausted – tired of trying to keep up with the machinations of this court, tired of all the pretence, the energy it takes to be constantly on guard.
Bothwell clears his throat and looks at her for a moment too long. ‘I will leave you to your thoughts, Lady Alvah.’
She feels as if he’s caught her in an indiscretion. ‘Sorry . . .’ she begins.
‘It’s quite all right,’ Bothwell says. ‘I’ve always been happiest in my own company, you know – and it’s a quality I recognise in others.’
As he turns back towards the palace, Elspet feels a strange combination of gratitude to be left alone and embarrassment that he saw what she needed.
Left alone in the garden, she stares up at the moon and lets her gaze slacken.
This is all too much. She may have succeeded in gaining the trust of the physician, but there is a greater problem to consider.
The Queen has given her an impossible task – one she cannot possibly fulfil.
And on top of that, she’s promised to help Kitty Muirhead rid herself of the child she carries.
All in an unfamiliar city, posing as a noblewoman, a lady-in-waiting, a role as far as could be possible from her true identity.
She allows the events of the last few days to play through her mind slowly.
Kitty lying in the attic room at New-Frater House, all anger and desperation to rid herself of the child that grows in her belly.
The differences in station and wealth between the two pregnant women could not be greater, but they’re both powerless over their own situations; both carry a child and are at the mercy of pressures outside their own will.
The Queen’s determination to defy the King in the matter of her child’s upbringing – and her unthinkable expectations of Elspet.
This whole court, full of plotting and treachery.
The King, frustrated at every turn and a figure of ridicule among his people, taking comfort in his campaign against the treason of witchcraft, rather than tackling the treason of his own nobles with any conviction.
Her mind slows; pictures trace across the moon – the Queen’s swelling stomach, Martin Schoner’s scowling face, Bothwell’s swagger, the King, leaning on Mar, limping down the corridors of Holyrood, Kitty and her pleas.
Over all these images appear Gillie’s and Broden’s faces – so far away, in distance and in time, growing and learning every day without her.
The way she gets back to them is by solving the Queen’s problem, somehow giving her what she wants and securing her protection.
The images swim together, merging and converging until, all of a sudden, she’s pulled out of the seidhr by a single, clear thought.
It’s impossible and it’s terrifying. But it comes to her like a bolt of lightning and she can’t let it go. Elspet stares up at the full moon for a long time before going back to the ladies’ chamber to sleep.