The Triple Goddess (55 page)

Hotchkiss went on to give practical demonstration of some of his repertoire of
coups de grâce
, identifying each by name and saying what was different about it, and the conditions that determined which should be employed on any given occasion to sever the fattest and the most stubborn or sinewy necks.

Each swing concluded with a satisfying thunk as well-honed metal met wood, followed by cheers from the onlookers. There were old favourites such as the Lady Jane, the Boleyn, and the unorthodox Sir Thomas, which began with a wiggle of the bottom, and came in at such a shallow angle that it was like topping an egg.

By special request he also performed the Roundabout, the Ajax Swirl, the Chine-Slicer, the Butcher’s Goodnight, the Tenebrae Vertebrae, and the Double Gloucester.

The
pièce de résistance
, a magnificent assault that elicited oohs and ahs from the crowd, was a patented delivery called the Blockbuster, in which Headless’s feet left the ground at the moment of impact. It originated in the toes, and the force was almost visible as it surged through the man’s body and up the axe’s handle, seemingly investing the semicircular blade with an electrical charge before it made its lightning descent.

Since Hotchkiss weighed in at twenty stone before breakfast, and he breakfasted well, after this “chop supreme” the metal head was so deeply embedded that it took the mighty man half a minute to work free from what, if he had really been trying, would have been good for nothing but firewood. Which prompted a general feeling that any of Doctor Hotchkiss’s patients who were, per W.S. Gilbert’s lyric in
The Mikado
, “Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock, |From a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block”, on the National Health Service, should consider themselves fortunate to have been upgraded to the equivalent of a Bupa private healthcare plan.

Chop-a-Block Hotch ended the display by warning people of the dangers of trying any of these manoeuvres on their own at home, unless they had received proper training from a qualified instructor registered with Hotchkiss’s own Royal Warranted company; were in good physical condition; and were using one of his patented traditional hickory-and-steel axes—the new ergonomic graphite-shafted and titanium-headed models were unnecessarily expensive for general use, he said…though he had several reasonably priced versions in his new catalogue—and unbalanced…that was proportionate to their size and strength; and that children and minors, because their musculature was not sufficiently developed, should not attempt them except with an aluminium-and-rubber half-size junior model under adult supervision, following the instructions in the manual.

The groundlings had for some time been expressing their impatience by stamping their feet and chanting Ralegh’s name, when at a quarter to noon the heralds emerged again. They were resplendent in tabards, which like their trumpet banners were emblazoned in red, gold, and blue; and they had on them the Sovereign’s arms of three lions passant guardant, fleur de lis, and harp.

A fanfare was blown and the prisoner brought forth, in the middle of a column of slow-stepping soldiers, and impeccably coordinated drummers who raised their sticks under their noses between each funereal roll. Underneath a black velvet cloak, which he held gathered behind him with one arm, so as to show off his clothes, in place of the predominantly dark garments that he had worn to Old Palace Yard, Westminster in 1618, Sir Walter was wearing a crimson satin doublet over a yellow embroidered waistcoat, green taffeta breeches, and orange silk stockings.

Either teasingly or inappropriately, or both, he had a dinner-plate sized starched cartridge-pleated ruff around his neck, and the nightcap on his head was embroidered with pearls.

Unable to resist an opportunity to rile the king for auld lang syne, Ralegh also had a pipe in his mouth and was puffing away. It was his favourite pipe, Arbella noted: the long silver one with the amber mouthpiece and stem chased with the undulating figure of a sea-serpent.

As soon as they saw the guest of honour, everyone present who was seated, except the King and Lady Throckmorton, forgot their irritation at the delay and rose to their feet, cheering and applauding. Sir Walter acknowledged those on either side as he was paraded to the block, and nodded affably to his former acquaintances, enemies and friends alike, amongst the courtiers.

However the King did jump to his feet in a rage when he saw the smoke, and though he was a distance away covered his nose with a lace handkerchief.

‘’Strewth,’ said James, his voice muffled, ‘this man shall vex me to the end.’ But there was nothing he could do about it, so he sat again and hunched his shoulders even more than usual, glowering and muttering curses through the material.

When the soldiers brought Ralegh to a halt at the block, he tapped his pipe out on it, released the folds of his cloak, put it in an inside pocket, and amid cries of ‘Speech! Speech!’ raised both hands for silence.

‘Your Majesty, Lords and Ladies, ladies and gentlemen,’ he boomed when everyone had quietened down; ‘on an occasion such as this, hundreds of years ago, I made a witty oration.
Déjà coupé
, I do not choose to do so again. This will take but a moment. For King James, you should know, is not responsible for our being here. On the contrary, I summoned him, and for all I care he may stay here for eternity—my rooms are available.’

Ralegh’s opening statement was greeted with gasps of incredulity and groans, and cries of ‘Shame!’, and, ‘We want our money back!’.

As the King ground his rotten teeth, Sir Walter continued. ‘Ye are present to witness my leave-taking of the world, for today I mean to die in earnest, and that’s no jest. I know I used the same words before, but now I am confident it is true. How often have I envied Robert Burton, who, after he predicted his death by means of astronomy, committed suicide in order to ensure that the prophecy was fulfilled!

‘This morning, instead of talking about myself I want to announce a few persons who are about to join me in bidding adieu to this world for ever, upon the stroke of twelve. I would ask them to stand up as I do so, in order that ye may know them.

‘First and foremost is my beloved son Carew, whose devotion has kept me as sane as I am capable of being throughout these long years, details withheld. My boy, again, Gramercy for thy constant love!’

Carew rose and bowed to left and right, to cheers from the Lloyd’s contingent, and scattered clapping from the rest of the audience, most of whom had not heard of Carew Ralegh before.

‘Next, my good friend Lord Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. Without his lordship’s polymathic abilities, this gathering would not be taking place.’

The Wiz got to his feet and raised both his arms—he had drunk a lot and very little coffee—as if he were a cricket umpire signalling a six to the scorer in the pavilion. There was polite but not too effusive acknowledgement from the aristocrats, so as not to offend the monarch, whose attempted death Lord Henry had aided and abetted by providing Guy Fawkes with rather a lot of gunpowder to blow up the Houses of Parliament, while King James was there for the opening ceremony.

‘Thirdly, my faithful servant Grammaticus.’

Grammaticus was up and down so fast that most people got no sight of him.

Ralegh raised his eyes aloft. ‘Please also put your hands together for my wife, Lady Elizabeth Ralegh,
née
Throckmorton, who is seated with the royal party. For though she knoweth it not until now, she too is to accompany us this day. Bess, I sincerely regret that this should come at such short notice, but when we met yesterday actions spoke louder than words, and besides, I had only just learned of it.’

As everyone looked to her ladyship, she leaped to her feet with a scream of incomprehension and rage. Parting her skirts, from between the hoops under the fabric she produced a large-muzzled firearm, which in one smooth movement she raised to her shoulder and discharged at her husband.

Her aim was good, and as she recoiled from the percussion and those around her covered their ears, a quantity of shot and nails tore into Sir Walter’s doublet. Embarrassment was added to everyone’s shock as the King bellowed his approval; but his rejoicing was premature, for to the renewed gasps of the onlookers Ralegh merely roared with laughter.

‘O thou of little faith, Bess,’ said Sir Walter, brushing himself off and spitting out a nail; ‘as both Your Majesty and thou can see, though it seemeth that there hath ever been a curse upon my cloaks, weapons are still ineffectual upon my person. Pray have patience!

‘Last but not least, I invite you to welcome a most beautiful and talented young lady who is gracing these proceedings with her presence. Not only is Arbella the direct descendant of my former confidante in the Tower, Lady Arbella Stuart, it is to her that I owe my reconciliation with my son; for which she hath my eternal gratitude.’

Every eye was riveted upon Arbella as she rose, curtsied first to the King as protocol required, and then to Sir Walter. As she did so, it seemed to her that she too was being drawn to a timeless place; one that was filled with everything that was dear to her, a place as far from the present as it was from the past.

The sun came out from behind a cloud, Ralegh looked directly at it, and his features registered a powerful emotion. He spoke a little faster. ‘Now that my immortality is wearing thin, I must say how glad I am that good master Hotchkiss hath been able to entertain you with his display, because I have no use for his services. Nor will there be a body to bury.’

Sir Walter glanced humorously at the executioner and flicked his collar, which was so large and stiff that Headless looked at it quizzically, as if the recipient of his “sharp remedy” was implying that his axe might not be equal to the task of cleaving it.

‘Even as I speak,’ Ralegh continued, ‘I can feel myself becoming a shadow of my former self; and I can tell from the faces and forms of my son and colleagues, and my wife, that they are undergoing the same transformation.’

The crowd was hushed, confused as to what he meant, and the Tower clocks, for once simultaneously, began striking the hour.

‘So now it remaineth only for me to invite my son Carew Ralegh, Lord Henry Percy, and Grammaticus, to join me on the Green, so that we might bid each other and the world a last adieu. And goodbye, Bess...I trow thou wilst be able to make thine own way. Carew, Harry, Grammaticus, if you would...’

A slight breeze arose and the last words were lost.

The end came quickly. As her companions drew her to her feet their forms and outlines were already evanescing and becoming indistinct; and when each of them kissed her on the cheek she felt no pressure or touch…except from the last, Carew.

Then Carew reached into his waistcoat fob and withdrew a gold half-hunter watch on a chain. Detaching the pin from his buttonhole, he took Arbella’s hand, placed the watch in it, folded her fingers over the watch, and wound the chain around her hand.

The three men picked their way along the row of the stands, and down the gangway steps to join Sir Walter at the block where he was waiting for them with an ethereal expression on his face. Lord Henry, who was last, stopped for a moment to take a notebook from his pocket, squinted at the sun, and did a swift calculation with a ballpoint pen, before hurrying after the others.

After they had solemnly shaken hands with each other, the four lined up and bowed to the crowd. Then, upon the twelfth strike of the clocks, there was a blaze of sunlight.

When the light reverted to its previous strength the quartet had disappeared, as, when Arbella looked to where she had been sitting, had Bess, along with King James and his Court, the officials, the headsman, and all the onlookers, even the men of Lloyd’s, and the structures of the stands and royal stage; and Arbella found herself alone on an empty Tower Green.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Although they were gone, their influence lingered in Arbella’s life. Sitting at the breakfast-table the following day, after eating a plateful of eggs and bacon followed by toast and marmalade, she opened for the
n
th time Carew’s parting gift of the half-hunter, to look inside the back plate at a tiny but finely detailed portrait of Sir Walter and Carew Ralegh, side by side.

Old as the picture was, the colours were still lively, and there was an animated quality to it that a photograph could not have conveyed.

The pair seemed very much at ease with each other, and as they looked out at her it seemed to Arbella that they were inviting her to share their intimacy.

Lord Stace entered.

‘Good
morn
ing, her
fa
ther’s
dear
; you are
well
, he
trusts
?’

Divided as his day was into minutes and subdivisions thereof, Stace, in addition to eschewing use of the first person in his conversation, had been practising the art of speaking in metrical feet. He was pleased with the effect, especially with that of the iambic pentameter, or blank verse, use of which had already extended his working day by ten and a half minutes; and, by compressing his use of language, added still further emphasis to his forceful mode of expression.

Stace had rewarded the time-and-motion consultant who had recommended such verbal economy, and rehearsed him in its use, a substantial bonus for increasing his lordship’s temporal thrift.