Aris Returns (7 page)

He spoke to me. “So Aris, it seems you are intrigued by the cousin of Thomas Wyatt.
Is that so?”

I toyed with my cup of ale resting on the battered table before I answered. “She is
lovely.” Unable to tell the truth of my affection for her, I hoped to evade any further
questions.

“Is that all, you just find her lovely? I see you staring at her at court. And,” he
chuckled, “she seems quite taken with you.”

“I find her wit as well as her face appealing, nothing more.” I downed the amber liquid
in one large gulp.

George raised his eyebrows and leaned forward to speak. The door
of the tavern opened and banged against the wall, caught by a gust of wind. We turned
to see who entered. I was surprised to see a pretty young woman of common stock with
an infant in her arms step from the cold night into the dim room. It was very late
and unsafe in that part of London, quite unusual for a woman to be in the streets
alone.

She stood still as her eyes adjusted to the light. She seemed to recognize George
who abruptly stood as she began to move toward our table. In his drunken stupor, he
knocked the bench on which he was seated to the floor.

His voice was soft and vicious. “Remove her. I do not wish to speak with her.”

She moved to stand in front of him. “Your child, your son.” She held the babe to him.

“Not my child, you whore.” He pushed her and reeling from too much drink, made his
way from the tavern.

The woman sat, holding the babe close in her arms; her gentle sobs were muffled as
she buried her face in the blankets. Her clothes were tattered yet clean and her hair
combed. As I approached her, I noticed her fingernails were trimmed and her hands
were scrubbed.

“Madam?”

She stifled her tears and as she looked up at me I could see the moisture on her cheeks
shimmering in the light of the single candle resting on the table. She was very young
and fragile.

“What is your plight, madam?” My question was driven by my promise to Mistress Anne
to protect the name of Boleyn but as the maid told her story, my heart opened with
compassion for her ordeal.

She was silent for just a moment. When she spoke, it was in a whisper. “I was a serving
maid in a tavern much like this one. Master Boleyn and his friends came into the tavern
often and were always generous with those of us who served them.

“And then,” she paused as if in physical pain, “there came a night when they lingered
until almost dawn drinking much more than usual.
They were hardly able to stand to walk when the proprietor finally bade them leave.
Laughing loudly, they staggered to the door and made their way into the earliest light
of daybreak. I cleared their table and began to scrub the dark stains of the spilled
wine as the barkeep bid me goodnight. He left the tavern and I was alone.” Her eyes
became frightened as she recalled the memory.

“Go on,” I gently placed my hand on her arm as I spoke.

“The door slammed open and Master Boleyn stood in a silhouette, the rising sun behind
him. His laughter was frightening as he lurched across the room toward me.” She clasped
the child closer to her breast and hid her face in its blanket. “He ripped my bodice.
I tried to cover my bosom with the tattered cloth but he pulled it away from me. His
laugh was cruel as he jerked me to him, his rancid breath vile on my face. A horrifying
awareness came over me as I knew his intention. He was blind to my struggles and my
strength was no weapon against his assault. He cursed as he struck me then tore my
skirt to bare my thighs. His weight was heavy on me. He… he violated me.” Sobs overtook
her and her small shoulders trembled as she fought for control. When she had silenced
her weeping, she raised her eyes to meet mine.

“This child is his. My beautiful son is the descendent of Master Boleyn.”

“And what do you want of Master Boleyn, madam?” I realized that this woman and this
babe were of no import to the Boleyn family yet my heart was sore at her trouble,
little more than a child herself.

“I cannot return to work in the tavern. I feel terror in the presence of men who are
loose with drink.” Again, a moment of silence, she inhaled a deep breath as she gathered
her courage. At last, she spoke. “I ask for nothing more of Master Boleyn than assistance
in finding a position so that I am able to feed and clothe my child, yet he shuns
me.” She spoke through her grief, “I must find a way to care for my child.”

I felt revulsion at the actions of the young lord and vowed to assist the pitiful
mother. “No longer fear for the safety of your child. I will find a
position for you. The royal kitchen is always in need of scullery workers. You will
have food and shelter and a small wage. You will have a post for as long as you choose.”

Her eyes shone with gratitude. “Thank you sir.” She looked at her baby then met my
eye. “I am forever indebted to you.”

I assured her she owed me no debt. I asked where she lodged. She answered she had
no permanent refuge but moved from place to place, working for a night’s shelter.

“No more,” I said. “You will return with me to court tonight. We will find a place
for you and the child to sleep and on the morrow, I will speak with one who will assure
you a position.” I would call on the Lady Anne to make it so. She would do anything
to keep the Boleyn name safe from Cardinal Wolsey. He despised the Boleyns and vowed
their ruin using any means he could find.

And so, the mother and child were made safe and I stepped up in the estimation of
the Lady Anne. I enjoyed her recognition and the elevation of my station in her eyes.
So unlike the rest of my kind, I relished the life and notoriety of a courtier. I
surmise it was a fancy brought from my life as a human.

My human family was prominent, holding vast lands and a fleet of merchant ships. I
was a boy raised without want. All I desired was mine. Riches and finery were the
only life I knew. Is it any wonder that the royal court was a place of comfort for
me?

He ceased speaking. The afternoon light grew dim and a gentle rain began to fall outside
the office window. “Please, go on.”

The court housed many beautiful women and many of them presented themselves to me
yet I saw only one. Time and again I wondered how much George Boleyn really knew of
my affection for Thomas Wyatt’s cousin. It was at a royal banquet I first cast eyes
on her.

That night, at the end of the meal, the King rose from the royal table. He laughed
loudly as he ordered the musicians to play a pavane. Those who wished to dance took
their places as the music began.

It was there I saw her. Her hair was without decoration or hood. She needed neither.
Thick, blond curls shimmered in the candle light shaming all those who resorted to
jewels for their sparkle. Her eyes were the color of molten gold surrounded by the
clearest blue sapphire. Her neck was long and graceful. She tilted her chin in such
a way that I longed to hold her, to protect her from any harm.

A thousand thoughts ravaged my mind. Who was this beauty? Why had I not seen her before?
How could I possess her, make her my own?

Suddenly, I remembered and for the first time in my living death, I hated what I was.
A beast. A savage. If she knew my true self, she would flee. I hurried away from the
music into the cool dark of the palace rose garden.

The pleasant evening air was a respite after the heat of the dance. I breathed more
slowly, more deeply. Although I have no need to breathe, it seems to soothe the body
which I inhabit. The sound of laughter reached me as I sat among the blossoms. I heard
voices. I recognized Thomas Wyatt but I had never previously heard the voice of the
maid.

I stood to move from the shadows to greet them when I saw her hair radiant in the
moonlight. I stopped still. It was the angel. I watched as they walked and chatted
amiably much as a brother and sister would. I vowed I would give Thomas no rest until
he told me the name of the love of my existence, which I had found at last.

I hurried to his rooms and there, outside, I waited for him. The sun was rising when
he returned. His dark hair was disheveled, his doublet thrown carelessly over his
shoulder. His sleepless, red-rimmed eyes opened wide at the sight of me. He yawned.

“What are you doing here?”

“Where have you been?” I did not wait for him to answer. “The maid in the garden with
you last night, who is she?”

Thomas stopped walking. He stared at me, then broke into laughter. “There is no need
for accusation, sir. You speak of Bess, Elizabeth Wyatt, my cousin.”

“Your cousin? Why have I not seen her here before last night?”

“She is new to court. Do you wish to meet her?”

“No. No.” I paused. I lied. “I thought I knew her, but I was mistaken.”

We entered his rooms. He poured sweet wine and chose a piece of hard cheese from the
plate on the table. “I worked up quite an appetite with one of the Queen’s ladies
last night.” Again he yawned. He bit into the cheese. As he chewed, he stretched his
arms over his head then flopped in a chair by the fire, his muscular legs sprawling
out before him.

“Here, sit.” He motioned me to join him. The crackling flames caused our shadows to
dance on the stone walls. We sat quietly, listening to the sounds of burning apple
wood, two men lost in their own thoughts.

At last he spoke. “Aris, Bess serves Queen Katherine.” He rose from his slouch and
leaned forward toward me. “What is your interest in her?”

“Thomas, I cannot lie to you further. I saw her and I loved her. I see her face before
me even now.” I rose and paced in front of him. “I must meet her.” I turned to meet
his eyes. “You must make it so.”

“All right.” He laughed, then became serious. “I will introduce you to my cousin but
never forget, she is my family. I am sworn to protect our name.”

“Never fear, Thomas. My intentions are only honorable.”

Later that night as I sat quietly in my rooms, I questioned just how honorable could
the intentions of a vampire be.

#

Sarah sat in silence wondering at his words. There it was again, the reference to
being a beast, a vampire. Not needing to breathe. What could it mean? Slowly she brought
him out of the hypnotic state. She waited patiently until he was ready to speak.

“Wow. What was that all about?”

“What do you think it was about, Carlos?”

“Aren’t you the one who is supposed to have all the answers?”

“Carlos, we are just beginning this journey. We’ll have to define the pictures you
are being shown in your sessions, what the images mean to you. Then we’ll be able
to relate them to your present life.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” He sat up quickly. “All this psycho
mumbo jumbo doesn’t make any sense to me and I don’t get how this bullshit history
lesson has anything to do with my life anyhow.” His eyes narrowed as he stood looking
down at her. “How is all this fairy tale crap going to help me stay out of trouble,
you want to tell me that?”

Her heart raced at the anger in his expression. She smoothed her skirt, taking a moment
to regain her composure. Forcing a smile she didn’t feel, she rose from the chair
to stand facing him. He was tall, muscular and intimidating.

“Each session will lead us closer to the answers that you are looking for. It’s one
step at a time. I won’t tell you I have any idea right now what this sixteenth century
vampire regression is about, but I do believe that it is important that we continue
to pursue this.” She turned, moving to sit in the chair behind her desk, putting space
between them before she continued. She spoke as she made a note in his file. “Unless
you would rather stop right here.” She looked at him. “What do you want to do, Carlos?”

He stared at her a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, you’re the
expert. If you say we need to keep this crap up, then we’ll do it. I just don’t want
to end up in trouble with the law again.” He sat across from her, leaning forward
as he spoke. “I want a better life for me and I’ve got a kid brother. I don’t want
him doing what I’ve done. He deserves better than that. I guess I’m willing to do
whatever it takes to protect him.”

“Alright. What can you tell me about your brother?”

“I’m done talking for the day. My hour is up.” He grinned and stood. “I’ll see you
next Friday at the same time.”

Sarah stood to walk with him to the door. His palms were cold and clammy as she shook
his hand. She closed the door behind him wondering if he was really as confident as
he appeared or if he was as nervous about their work together as she was.

T
he music was blasting and the four televisions on the wall in front of her were all
on different stations as she plodded along on the treadmill. In the summer she did
cardio in the park but it was still far too cold. She hoped all the noise and energy
of the gym would take her mind off Carlos but so far, no such luck.