The Queen’s Fool. Philippa Gregory

      The Lady Mary did not see the king that night but the chambermaids’ gossip was that when she went into his room the next day she came out again, white as a winding sheet. She had not known till then that her little brother was so near to his death.

      After that, there was no reason for her to stay. She rode out as she had come, with a great retinue following behind, and all the court bowing as low as they could reach, to indicate their new-found loyalty; half of them praying silently that, when the young king died and she came to the throne, she would be blessed with forgetfulness and overlook the priests they had burned at the stake, and the churches they had despoiled.

      I was watching this charade of humility from one of the palace windows when I felt a gentle touch on my sleeve. I turned, and there was Lord Robert, smiling down at me.

      ‘My lord, I thought you would be with your father, saying goodbye to the Lady Mary.’

      ‘No, I came to find you.’

      ‘For me?’

      ‘To ask you if you would do me a service?’

      I felt my colour rise to my cheeks. ‘Anything …’ I stammered.

      He smiled. ‘Just one small thing. Would you come with me to my tutor’s rooms, and see if you can assist him in one of his experiments?’

      I nodded and Lord Robert took my hand and, drawing it into the crook of his arm, led me to the Northumberland private quarters. The great doors were guarded by Northumberland men, and as soon as they saw the favoured son of the house they snapped to attention and swung the double doors open. The great hall beyond was deserted, the retainers and the Northumberland court were in the Whitehall garden demonstrating their immense respect to the departing Lady Mary. Lord Robert led me up the grand stairs, through a gallery, to his own rooms. John Dee was seated in the library overlooking an inner garden.

      He raised his head as we came into the room. ‘Ah, Hannah Verde.’

      It was so odd for me to hear my real name, given in full, that for a moment I did not respond, and then I dipped a little bow. ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘She says she will help. But I have not told her what you want,’ Lord Robert said.

      Mr Dee rose from the table. ‘I have a special mirror,’ he said. ‘I think it possible that, one with special sight might see rays of light that are not visible to the ordinary eye, d’you understand?’

      I did not.

      ‘Just as we cannot see a sound or a scent, but we know that something is there, I think it possible that the planets and the angels send out rays of light, which we might see if we had the right glass to see them in.’

      ‘Oh,’ I said blankly.

      The tutor broke off with a smile. ‘No matter. You need not understand me. I was only thinking that since you saw the angel Uriel that day, you might see such rays in this mirror.’

      ‘I don’t mind looking, if Lord Robert wishes it,’ I volunteered.

      He nodded. ‘I have it ready. Come in.’ He led the way to an inner chamber. The window was shielded by a thick curtain, all the cold winter light blocked out. A square table was placed before it, the four legs standing on four wax seals. On top of the table was an extraordinary mirror of great beauty, a gold-wrought frame, a bevelled rim, and a golden sheen on the silvering. I stepped up to it and saw myself, reflected in gold, looking not like the boy-girl I was, but like a young woman. For a moment I thought I saw my mother looking back at me, her lovely smile and that gesture when she turned her head. ‘Oh!’ I exclaimed.

      ‘D’you see anything?’ Dee asked, I could hear the excitement in his voice.

      ‘I thought I saw my mother,’ I whispered.

      He paused for a moment. ‘Can you hear her?’ he asked, his voice shaking.

      I waited for a moment, longing with all my heart that she would come to me. But it was only my own face that looked back at me, my eyes enlarged and darkened by unshed tears.

      ‘She’s not here,’ I said sadly. ‘I would give anything to hear her voice, but I cannot. She has gone from me. I just thought that I saw her for a moment; but it is my own face in the mirror.’

      ‘I want you to close your eyes,’ he said, ‘and listen carefully to the prayer that I am going to read. When you say “amen” you can open your eyes again and tell me what you see. Are you ready?’

      I closed my eyes and I could hear him softly blowing out the few candles illuminating the shadowy room. Behind me I was conscious of Lord Robert sitting quietly on a wooden chair. I wanted only to please him. ‘I am ready,’ I whispered.

      It was a long prayer in Latin, I understood it despite Mr Dee’s English pronunciation of the words. It was a prayer for guidance and for the angels to come and protect the work we would do. I whispered ‘amen’ and then I opened my eyes.

      The candles were all out. The mirror was a pool of darkness, black reflected in black, I could see nothing.

      ‘Show us when the king will die,’ Mr Dee whispered from behind me.

      I watched, waiting for something to happen, my eyes staring into the blackness.

      Nothing.

      ‘The day of the king’s death,’ Dee whispered again.

      In truth, I could see nothing. I waited. Nothing came to me. How could it? I was not some sibyl on a Greek hillside, I was not some saint to whom mysteries were revealed. I stared into the darkness until my eyes grew hot and dry and I knew that far from being a holy fool I was a fool pure and simple, looking at nothing, at a reflection of nothing, while the greatest mind in the kingdom waited for my answer.

      I had to say something. There was no going back and telling them that the Sight came to me so seldom and so unheralded that they would have done better to leave me leaning against the wall of my father’s shop. They knew who I was, they had promised me sanctuary from danger. They had bought me and now they expected some benefit for their bargain. I had to say something.

      ‘July,’ I said quietly, as good a reply as any.

      ‘Which year?’ Mr Dee prompted me, his voice silky and quiet.

      Common sense alone suggested that the young king could not live much longer. ‘This year,’ I said unwillingly.

      ‘The day?’

      ‘The sixth,’ I whispered in reply, and I heard the scratch of Lord Robert’s pen as he recorded my mountebank prophecy.

      ‘Tell the name of the next ruler of England,’ Mr Dee whispered.

      I was about to reply ‘Queen Mary’, echoing his own tranced tone. ‘Jane,’ I said simply, surprising myself.

      I turned to Lord Robert. ‘I don’t know why I said that. I am most sorry, my lord. I don’t know …’

      John Dee quickly grasped my jaw, and turned my head back to the mirror. ‘Don’t talk!’ he ordered. ‘Just tell us what you see.’

      ‘I see nothing,’ I said helplessly. ‘I am sorry, I am sorry, my lord. I am sorry, I can’t see anything.’

      ‘The king who comes after Jane,’ he urged me. ‘Look, Hannah. Tell me what you see. Does Jane have a son?’

      I would have said ‘yes’ but my tongue would not move in my dry mouth. ‘I cannot see,’ I said humbly. ‘Truly, I cannot see.’

      ‘A closing prayer,’ Mr Dee said, holding me in my chair by a firm grip on