Sunday, 26 November, 1588. St. Paul’s Cathedral, London.
ALL of England celebrated the thirtieth anniversary of Elizabeth’s accession to the crown for a full week. Pageants and processionals, tournaments and masques, plays and music and bonfires.
Hal and I waited in a place of honor near the steps of St. Paul’s on that chill but clear Sunday morning. Maggie Rose held her new male puppy tightly. Helwriaeth squirmed and wiggled to be set free. She let him drop to the ground, but kept a firm hand on his collar and lead. They made a happy pair, even though the dog had not the intelligence or magic to become a familiar.
Newynog had bequeathed the female familiar to baby Griffin, Hal’s nephew.
I think I breathed a sigh of relief at that. Maggie Rose was destined to fulfill a quieter, less dangerous role in history than that of the Pendragon.
Baruckey, the strangely silent Gypsy boy, watched my daughter without envy or resentment. He had refused a dog of his own from Newynog’s litter.
Both Hal and his son fidgeted, uncomfortable in their new finery. Stiff ruffs and boning in their doublets confined them in ways neither liked.
“Stand still,” I admonished them both.
Hal cringed. Baruckey looked at me with his piercing blue eyes, Kirkwood eyes. Hal’s eyes.
Even without magic, I knew what he intended to do. I stepped on his foot to break his concentration. “Not here and not now!”
“But...”
“Later. After dark, you and your father can run the heath.” We glared at each other a moment. Baruckey did not take discipline easily. But he recognized both Hal and I as being more dominant than he in the family that had become his pack.
I did not have to have magic to know that he would challenge us constantly. I hoped we could instill a measure of civilization and manners into him before we could no longer dominate him.
“Is that man not the actor we saw in the play yester’eve?” Hal asked. He nodded toward a handsome young man off to our left.
“Yes, I believe so. A brilliant performance. Do you remember his name?”
“His name is Will,” Maggie Rose said. “He wrote the play, too, though the theater owner will not admit to it.”
“Ah,” I replied. Maggie Rose seemed to know much more about life in London than I ever did, even during the years I ran a tavern.
“Look, Mama, the queen comes.” Maggie Rose jumped up and down in her excitement. “Isn’t she pretty with all of her jewels and pearls? And her red hair as bright as yours.”
“She looks sad,” Baruckey muttered.
Maggie Rose pouted at this negative comment. She wanted to paint the world to suit her own mood, not Baruckey’s,
“The queen is all alone,” I explained. “The man she loved above all others died two months ago. She misses the Earl of Leicester terribly.” I reached for Hal’s hand and held it tightly. A miracle had brought me back to life. I prayed every day that he and I might share many long years together and never again be separated. As Elizabeth and her beloved Robin Dudley had been separated.
A mighty cheer swelled through the crowd as Elizabeth disembarked from her special coach. She smiled and waved to them. Ribbands and banners flew through air, along with green boughs and... Could it be?
“Yes,” I sighed. “The faeries have come to celebrate with her.” Dozens of brightly colored beings flew marvelous spirals and looping patterns around her head.
Newynog lifted her head and snapped at one of the audacious creatures that came too close to her nose. Helwriaeth leaped and frolicked in turn.
“Ah, our Merlin has joined us.” Elizabeth held out her hand. I curtsied and kissed her rings. I had to jab Hal with an elbow to remind him of proper etiquette. Maggie Rose curtsied prettily. Baruckey glowered.
“Thank you for inviting us,” I replied as I straightened.
“We owe you much. More than this little token can convey.” She pressed a medal into my hands. I looked at it. On one side was the queen’s portrait. On the other a race-built galleon. Inscribed around the molded images was the legend that had become the motto of the victory over the armada: “God blew with His winds, and they were scattered.”
I handed the piece to Hal for his inspection. We had heard about the victory medal. Both of us grinned. God may indeed have had something to do with the wind. He just needed a little help now and then.
“Join us for the service.” Elizabeth gestured for me and my family to follow her into the cathedral.
“Thank you again, Majesty,” I said. This time I had to step on Hal’s foot to keep him from running away. “We are all honored to join you.”
“We are grateful that our message found you in London.”
“Yes, Majesty. We have just returned from Oxford. It seems a distant cousin, one Christopher Marlowe, has begun signing his name Christopher Merlin. He quite openly claims descent from the original. We had quite a long and involved conversation with him.”
The young playwright, Marlowe, had nearly soiled his nether garments when Hal described the consequences of drawing too much attention to our relationship to our esteemed ancestor. He vowed to be more subtle in the future.
As we talked, Baruckey dropped into fur without warning.
“And where are you off to next?” the queen asked as she nodded her head and waved to more of the cheering crowd. “You really should wait for our passport to travel abroad. But we know you will not heed our restrictions.”
Hal smiled at her, letting just a little bit too much fang show.
I jabbed him again.
“Paris next. We have unfinished business with the Duc de Guise and the Holy League.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Just make certain you leave no trail back to us.”
“That is why we travel without passport.”
The organ swelled to greet the queen as she entered the church nave. The choirs lifted their voices in polyphonic hymns of Thanksgiving and praise to Gloriana.
My family and I slipped out the back, unseen, anxious to be about our business. The business of England.