The Heresy of Dr Dee Read Free Page A

a blessed state that must be. Oft-times, my mother had accused me of it – far from the truth, of course, I
did
have ambition, though it related not to
the attainment of high office so much as the acquisition of high knowledge. Not easy, however, without the level of protection that only wealth and position could provide.
    Thus far, the Queen’s patronage had given me freedom to pursue my studies but not the means, for the fingers gripping the royal purse were famously held as tight as the rectal muscles of
the ducks upon the river. Having calculed, by the stars, a smiling day for her coronation, I’d hoped for secure office, but nothing had come. And if things went wrong I could soon, as Jack
had warned, be dangerously out of favour. In many ways, the daggers-out world of political advancement was far simpler than mine.
    We’d moved away from the beer-barge, back into the wood, but I still kept my voice down low.
    ‘What
were
they saying?’
    ‘About Lord Dudley? You really want to know?’
    ‘In truth, I suspect not, but…’
    ‘Here it is: nobody I spoke to, from the pieman to the pamphlet-seller, finks he didn’t murder her. Although the pieman reckoned killing your wife to make room for the next one is
only part of a great Tudor tradition, so he’s just getting in some practice for his future role as—’
    ‘Oh God, enough of this!’
    ‘You asked.’
    ‘Yes,’ I said wearily. ‘I asked.’
    I’d barely seen Robert Dudley since he’d journeyed with me to Glastonbury in search of the bones of King Arthur, through which to strengthen the Queen’s majesty as
Arthur’s spiritual successor. A quest with mixed success.
    I’ve been hearing all about your journey to the West
, she’d said on my one visit to the court since that mission.
The horrors of it! Lord Robert was so very appreciative of
your assistance in this matter.
    My
assistance,
Highness? That’s what he said?
    John…
She’d laid a white and fragrant hand on my arm.
He’s told me everything.
    The lying, self-promoting
bastard.
    ‘He’s never been mightily popular since she made him Master of the Horse, has he?’ Jack Simm said. ‘The lavish festivities, the arrogance, the preening.’
    ‘Behind all that,’ I said, not without doubt, ‘is a man of… integrity. Who’s seen much death.’
    The execution of his father, the Duke of Northumberland, for the support of Jane Grey, the shortest-lived queen in history. Then his own confinement in the Tower under a death sentence, later
withdrawn.
    And all this time coming closer to the Queen than any man. Grown up together, locked away in the Tower at the same time during her sister’s reign. Always an understanding betwixt them. And
the carnal attraction. As Master of the Horse, he took her hunting. Knew how best to entertain her – make her laugh, which she loved to do. Little doubt they’d have wed.
If…
    Jack shrugged.
    ‘Maybe he’s seen so much of death, it’s trivial to him now. Man who has his wife pushed down the stairs to get his paws on the Queen—’
    ‘Not proven.’
    ‘Nah, and never will be after they bribe the coroner. He’ll walk away in a pomander haze, but it won’t make no difference, will it? Still be the dog turd on a platter of
sausages. And the closer
you
are to him…’
    He was right, of course. But Dudley and I went back too long. Though only a few years older, I’d been appointed by his father to teach him mathematics and the mapping of the heavens, and
he it was who’d sought my astrological advice on the coronation date.
    Now, in the lowest alehouses – and some higher places, too, by all accounts – they were saying John Dee had taught Lord Dudley the blackest arts of sorcery, to win the Queen for
Satan.
    Never underestimate the malice of the common man.
    I sank my hands into the pockets of my doublet and, in one, found a hole. I could never forget that, while in Glastonbury and rendered delirious by a fever, my friend had confessed