The Serpent Garden - Judith Merkle Riley (30 page)

“Well, I suppose this is farewell,” he said.

“I suppose it is,” I said, “though I am glad to see you well again.” He looked puzzled.

“I thought…you were too disgusted to inquire after me.”

“You think me that rude? I sent Tom twice to ask after your health.”

“Twice? I only saw him once. I sent a message to you, and he returned to say you never wanted to see me again. I thought it only right, after…after all that has happened.” I could see him folding and unfolding his left hand in that curious gesture.

“He told you that? He told me that you didn’t want to answer my message. I thought it very rude and ungrateful of you. Possibly ruder than you are.”

“That little devil. If I catch him, I’ll strangle him. To show me no gentleman in front of you…” Something about him seemed so right and natural now. The dulled look had gone from his eyes, his emotions were quick, strong, and honest, not warped and strange as they had been in the bishop’s palace. It was as if a spell had been lifted. I couldn’t help thinking how well made he was. The facial bones were very good, a nice proportion of bone to muscle…

“They’ve put us on the lower deck, with the cannons,” I said, a bit quickly, to cover my thoughts. “I doubt we’ll see anything, but I’m going to try to stay on the main deck.”

“You’ll be in the way. They won’t let you,” he said.

“That’s what you say. You’re just jealous I’m going to the King of France’s court and you’re not.”

“But I am,” he answered. “I have orders from the archbishop.”

“To escort us, then?”

“No. I have a few…errands. I don’t know…if we’ll meet again over the water. I came…to give advice.” I looked at him, puzzled. “Don’t stray from the princess’s suite. Don’t be cozened by the French, no matter what they offer. Take always a good English escort with you. You often run errands for the gentlefolk you paint. Don’t carry any letters for anyone, especially…Norfolk and his suite.” He had lowered his voice with these last words.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing…but…there are those who do not like the treaty, for it advances my master and yours at the expense of others, both in France and in our own king’s favor.” Silently, I stared at his face. I could tell he regretted he had told me even that much. I nodded, trying to look very clever and wise, as if I understood it all. Politics are not for me. They tend to be nasty and dangerous, and lead to the executioner’s block. Painters should stay away from politics.

“Will you sail with us, then?”

“No, on the
Lübeck
,” he said, and his eyes were distant. Oh, dear, I thought, suddenly guilt stricken. I hope Tom stays well out of the way.

“I am sorry for what Tom did. I think…”

“…that he is as desperately entangled by you as I am,” said Robert Ashton, his voice low.

“Entangled?” I said, looking up at him, my eyes opening wide.

“Enmeshed, tied, captured. I see you…day and night. There was a time I prayed to be freed, but it only grows stronger, and I have given in….” I could feel something warm, something desperate, coming off him like a scent. Something I had never felt before from any man. It called me and pulled me even though I didn’t want it to. I came closer. I could feel his warm breath on my face, and his hazel eyes, all dark in the torchlight, became somehow transparent, showing me the depths of him. Something was burning there, something close to madness, that made my skin prickle and my mind melt as if drunk. What woman could see such forbidden things and ever hope to free herself again? I turned my face upward and suddenly felt his lips on mine, his warm, heavy-scented embrace around me. Something like molten silver shot through all the nerves in my body, hot, powerful, full of white light. My skin felt detached from my body, alive and crackling. Every hair on it felt as if it were standing up. My mind melted away. Never in my life had I dreamed that such a transformation were possible in my own, plain, earthly being. It was he, he had done it, and the forbidden stuff was shared between us now, like some pagan curse.

“Doomed,” he whispered. “I’ll see you again if I have to walk through the gates of hell itself…” I was terrified at what I had felt in me. I stepped away to stare at him, my eyes wide with shock. Can a man do that to a woman? Is that what it’s about, those songs and stories? Why him, why me? Why disgrace and death and loss? I looked up and saw that great patches of black were once again eating up the stars above. The wind was cold. “May God attend us all,” he said, turning on his heel and leaving abruptly.

“Well,” sniffed Nan. “There goes the strangest, rudest man I ever did see. Twice you have saved his life and not a word of thanks. But he steals a kiss like a ruffian. The man’s no gentleman…I swear, he’s not for you.” Her voice sounded distant, and I felt the strangest floating sensation. When I looked down, I realized I was shaking all over.

Together we mounted the swaying gangplank and managed to stay on deck long enough to see the king himself bring his sister to the waterside and kiss her farewell beneath the smoking torches before the trumpeters welcomed her on board.

High up in the rigging of the
Henri Grace à Dieu
sat a lovely, translucent figure in a blowing gown of dappled colors and the ugliest shoes imaginable. Invisible to the ordinary human eye, Hadriel stretched his iridescent wings to the blue sky and joyfully let the brisk, cool ocean wind ruffle the feathers on them. The sails of the
Great Harry
had been painted with lions and the Tudor rose, and her linen pennants, over a hundred feet long each, had been replaced by ones of embroidered silk. Far below the joyful angel’s seat, the deck of the galleon heaved crazily on the swells. Around the ship, white sails spread and pennants flying, the wedding fleet dotted the gray, whitecapped ocean like goslings following their mother. Hadriel was so pleased with the sight that he began to sing, but no one beneath him could hear it. A curious sound of the wind in the rigging, they thought.

Gray clouds began to gather in the sky, and Hadriel stopped his singing and looked up, annoyed, when a drop of rain fell on his nose. Impatiently, he shook his curly head at the dark clouds, and they blew on, then gathered again. This time, he pointed firmly at them with his slender, pale hand, and again the wind parted them. The sailors below looked impatiently at the sky, and the admiral of the flagship, still wearing his green-and-white damask dress livery in honor of his royal passenger, gave orders that sent them scurrying. The clouds, now black, began to gather anew, and there was a distant rumble of thunder.

“Stop this at once,” called Hadriel, furling his wings and looking irritated. “Belphagor, I know you’re there. Do you think I haven’t noticed you following me? Quit blowing up these clouds. You have been absolutely
insufferable
since those fools let you out of the box.”

“Get your ridiculous little nose out of my business,” growled a surly voice. “Go flutter home, you hymn-singing flatterer. You’re not wanted here.” A greenish, smoky figure was forming up, crouching on the yardarm below Hadriel’s perch: Belphagor the demon, red eyed, long nosed, and sagging of stomach.

“Nice outfit, Belphagor. That little furry thing sets off the green. But don’t you think the shade’s a little
passé
? I mean, that sort of bilious mustardy tone. A sort of a lettuce-y color would be much more becoming.”

“That’s my goat tail, you imbecile. You know I don’t wear clothes. I come in this color. We’re not vain like you celestial folk. Besides, you can hardly talk, wearing those ugly things on your feet.” Hadriel stretched out his feet and wiggled them, gazing admiringly at his shoes.

“They were a
gift
, Belphagor. Ten thousand years, and nobody’s ever given me a gift before. I give, I give, but I don’t get. I like them. Anybody ever give you anything?”

“You infant. I get offerings all the time.”

“Offerings to get you to do something. Not gifts for no reason at all. And pretty tawdry your offerings are, too. What was it you couldn’t resist last time? The corpse of a black rooster, I seem to recall. You got yourself locked up by those renegade Templars for it. Cheap, Belphagor, you sold yourself cheap. Now these nice shoes—”

“It was so a gift. It was a gift because…because…because they only asked me to do what I’d do anyway. So it didn’t count.”

“Sow destruction and vengeance, you mean? That takes a mind, Belphagor, and when I last looked, I didn’t notice you had much of a one.”

“I do so. I’m sowing destruction and vengeance right now. I’m going to sink all these ships. I hate weddings. Nobody ever invited me.”

“And what would you do if they did?”

“Sow destruction and vengeance.”

“Exactly. Which is why they never invite you, you nit.” When Belphagor was concentrating on his conversation, the wind abated. Startled, he looked around him and saw the gray clouds part and realized he had been deceived. Turning his fiery eyes on the sky, he revived the tearing wind and gathered the storm clouds anew. Swelling slightly, he raised himself up from his seat high into the air and let the first drops of rain spatter against the swirling, smoky green of his half-manifested body. Then he turned his long nose over his shoulder to gloat at Hadriel, who was still in the rigging, sitting below him now.

“You’ll be sorry you said that when I sink all these ships and that silly, round-faced girl you’ve been following. Glub, glub, glub. Horses, carriages, soldiers, plate, silk dresses, princess and all. Down to the bottom. Then the French king can’t be wed, and I’ve sowed my vengeance, and I’m freed. Ha! You see how clever I am?” The wind was blowing fiercely now, and the fleet had scattered over the surface of the dark waves. The rain began to fall in sheets from the blackened sky. Top-heavy with its wet sails and high, gilded, and carved superstructure, the ship heeled over, shaking Hadriel from his perch. Unfurling his great wings, he lifted into the swirling air. The demon laughed. “You see? Even you abandon them, you flyweight, no-account, feather ball!”

Furious, the rain streaming down his face and hair, Hadriel grasped the mainmast of the ship and pushed it upright again. The sound of his great wings beating was lost in the rush of the wind. The demon, older and stronger, grasped the mast from the other side, pushed it back, and then sat on it, squatting like a vast carrion crow. With the weight of his corrupt centuries, he bore down on the struggling angel. The leaping waves were perilously close to the gun ports now. A woman’s shriek could be heard. Inside the ship were the desperate sounds of men manning the pumps, trying hopelessly to stop the sea.

“Why?” cried Hadriel, the rain streaking his face like tears. “Why this ship?” The mast dipped lower. Any farther, and the gray water would flood through the gunports, swamping the ship.

“I told you,” gloated the demon. “It has the princess. It has your little pet. You spoiled my first plan. I was going to be born and walk the earth like a human, making trouble. You spoiled my birth. So now I have my liberty a new way. And my vengeance on you. See where I am? Above you, Hadriel. I spit on you.” A bolt of lightning struck near them, illuminating Hadriel’s pale features with a strange flash of greenish light.

“Vengeance on me you’ll have, but not your liberty, you tortoise brain.” Hadriel spoke swiftly, mockingly, trying to divert Belphagor’s attention. The demon’s hairy eyebrows raised. The thunder rolled.

“But of course I will. And it’s a small price for a chicken.” Belphagor looked smug.

“Recall the words of the spell the Templars put on you. It wasn’t vengeance on the King of France, it was vengeance on the King of France and his house. Besides, you have the wrong king. It’s King Philippe you want, and he’s dead. But you won’t be free until you’ve got vengeance on his whole family. Ha! You’ve been locked up a long time, Belphagor. There’s probably hundreds of them by now.” Lightning zigzagged past them, its crooked fingers lighting the black waters beneath.

“You don’t expect me to count them all, do you? They’re all alike. Besides, there’re so many.” Again, there was a crash of thunder.

“A spell’s a spell. You’re finished, Belphagor. No more vacations. No more visits to your cousins in hell. And as I recall, Satrinah is very annoyed that you haven’t been to visit her lately.” The fierce effort of talking and keeping the ship afloat was telling on Hadriel. For the first time in his ten thousand years, sweat mingled with the rain on his face, and his great wings beat slower. As the deck of the ship tilted farther, the hungry waves leaped to meet it. Around them both, demon and angel, the evil winds were whistling. Below them, a sailor fell overboard with a cry and was drowned.

“Satrinah?” Belphagor looked alarmed. “But what will I tell her?”

“Tell her you’re too stupid to find your way out of a spell, and see what happens,” answered Hadriel, his breath coming in gasps.

“But…but…his
house
? I’d have to become a genealogist. They breed like rats, these humans. Who can keep track of them?” It seemed to Hadriel that the demon’s weight was lightening. The ship began to right itself.