Chapter 1: Smoldering Fuse

Sept-Tours, France. Tuesday, October 8, 1605.

Philippe winced at the sound of wood smashing against stone. An instant later, Matthew's curse reverberated through the great hall. If Philippe's favorite carved folding chair had been a casualty to his son's wrath, Matthew's curses wouldn't be the only ones filling the air.

Philippe stood up to put a stop to the sound and fury, but before he could exit the study, the instigator himself stormed in, waving a letter in his hand. "Did you hear about the latest insanity coming from England?"

"There are so many these days, it's hard to keep track," Philippe said calmly. "Which one are you referring to?"

"George Chapman and Ben Jonson were both thrown into prison."

"What were they accused of?" Philippe asked although he could already guess.

Matthew snorted. "Their heinous crime was to have written a play."

"Which play offended the thin-skinned James?"

"Eastward Ho! — a satire of London social customs. Supposedly the king was offended by the Scottish references." Matthew rolled his eyes. "If King Henri took offense over every joke about him, most of France would be behind bars."

"Were the writers injured?" Philippe asked.

"Fortunately not," Matthew said, his anger subsiding. "There was talk of having their noses and ears cut off, but wiser heads prevailed." He sprawled into the chair opposite Philippe's desk and shoved his hands through his hair. "Dieu, I feel helpless. I should be the one going to London. These are my friends. I haven't seen them for fifteen years. They must believe I've abandoned them. Walter's still in prison. Now George is too. Tom Harriot is likely being watched. He never could pretend to be something he wasn't. How long before Hal Percy will be ensnared by some calumny as well?"

"Hal is a member of the Privy Chamber," Philippe pointed out. "He knows how to flatter when necessary. Raleigh should have copied his diplomatic skills. It's unfortunate Raleigh hasn't been released yet, but Robert Cecil was able to ease the restrictions. Raleigh's wife has visiting privileges. The son she bore in February will be a solace to them both."

Matthew shook his head, his voice still rough from only partially suppressed emotion. "I've decided to go to London. Hal and Walter are Knights of Lazarus. It's the least I can do."

"You'd do more harm than good," Philippe countered sternly. "In any case, there's no need for you to take such a reckless course. I've already made plans to leave in a week." Softening his tone a touch, he added, "You must accept reality. Matthew Roydon is a known associate of Raleigh's infamous group of free thinkers. You will be viewed with at least as much suspicion as them. I, on the other hand, am not tainted by prior associations."

When Matthew didn't immediately make a counter-argument, Philippe pursued his advantage. "I've also been able to maintain good relations with Cecil. I'll speak to him about Chapman and Jonson. The king has often remarked how much he enjoys their plays, and both of them are skilled enough actors to convince him of their abject contrition."

Matthew rubbed his forehead. "I may be able to assist from Paris. I have an audience scheduled with King Henri next week. If Tom is unable to work in England, France could provide a welcoming home. I plan to speak with Henri about Kepler's latest theories on planetary motion. Emperor Rudolph, for all his faults, embraces science. He's appointed Kepler imperial mathematician. Tom is an ideal candidate for a similar post in France."

As Matthew began expounding on Kepler's contributions, Philippe let him talk on. He didn't share his son's interest in science but he valued its importance, especially now that he knew hundreds of years from now, Matthew and Diana would be scientists. Someday in the far distant future, Matthew's heart would gladden at the thought that Tom Harriot and Jack had been so close. Philippe idly stroked his chin. He left messages in books for his wife Ysabeau. Perhaps there was something he could do for Matthew . . .

Freyja entered the room. "I assume you're no longer hurling furniture around, Matthew." Philippe's daughter had spent the past month at Sept-Tours. The relaxed lifestyle in Auvergne was likely beginning to bore her.

He grimaced. "Not for the moment."

"Good. I'd like to ride along with you when you return to Paris."

Matthew hesitated. Philippe could read the indecision in his face, and kept quiet, hoping he'd make the right decision on his own. If Philippe gave him a direct order, Matthew could wonder why Philippe was so opposed to him visiting London.

"I'll leave on Friday," Matthew finally conceded with a slight nod in Philippe's direction. Turning back to Freyja, he asked, "Is this sudden desire to return because of a certain actress?"

"You've heard about Bryn?" she said, seemingly untroubled by the question even as she deflecting a direct answer.

Matthew nodded. "And seen her perform. If all her talents are as well developed as her acting skills, you are indeed fortunate."

Philippe hadn't heard that his daughter was seeing someone. Bryn was an unusual name. The only time he'd come across it was when he met Jack's manjasang friend. Freyja's interest in her would be an interesting wrinkle that could perhaps be exploited. Feigning ignorance, he asked, "Who is this actress?"

"She's a member of a commedia dell'arte company," Freyja explained. "For decades she lived in England, passing herself off as a boy so she could perform. Now she alternates living in Paris and Italy. After I check on the renovation progress at my Paris home, I plan to visit her in Venice." She gave Philippe a wicked smile. "Don't worry. I'll keep our scandalous behavior private."

Philippe gave her the strict admonishment she expected, but secretly he was pleased to hear of her travel plans. Once more, he'd be able to make use of her skill in sniffing out rumors and gossip.

He bided his time, waiting till Matthew and Ysabeau were off hunting in the woods near the chateau. He found Freyja in the solar, reading a volume of Greek poetry. Sappho, no doubt. The ancient Greeks had much more enlightened views about love. The present time was a difficult one for his daughter. Perhaps in the distant future, society would be more tolerant. For the moment, Philippe had his hands full trying to establish greater religious tolerance. The sexual battle he'd leave to someone else.

"I saw the glint in your eyes when I mentioned Venice," Freyja said. "I assume you have a task for me."

Philippe took a seat next to her by the fire. "Gerbert has been living in Venice for the past several decades. Your paths may cross. I've heard that during the past several years he's been seen associating with Matthew's son Benjamin. No good can come from this. Gerbert is obsessed with finding the Book of Life and he believes witches are the key to its location. Benjamin has already displayed a most unhealthy fascination for witches."

"You fear the two may form an alliance?"

Philippe nodded. Gerbert d'Aurillac, the head of a clan of manjasangs located primarily in Venice and Auvergne, was a dangerous threat to the security of the de Clermonts. It was ironic for a manjasang of Gerbert's talents, who'd once been elected Pope, that he should be so ruthless. Now that Diana's name had been linked to the Book of Life, Gerbert and Benjamin's interest in witches was fraught with unknown perils for the future.

But how to make them cease their inquiries was a thorny challenge. Benjamin's hatred of the de Clermonts made reasoning with him impossible. Gerbert was cast in the same mold. If they'd become allies, an attempt to kill either one of them could provoke a war between manjasangs such as had not been seen in ages.

But Philippe wasn't without resources, and Gerbert wasn't the only one to employ spies. Freyja had already demonstrated a talent for the skill and it was a good outlet for her intellect. She readily agreed to make discreet inquiries in Venice for Philippe. Freyja already maintained good relations with witches. She was an ideal intermediary.

Did Diana have any knowledge of the Book of Life? When Philippe had drunk Jack's blood, the pup's memories of Prague were vague and disjointed. There'd been a book that Matthew stole from Emperor Rudolph. It made quite an impression on Jack since he'd stolen a key that later turned out to be necessary for the theft. Matthew told the boy that he was merely recovering the book. Since Diana was an expert on alchemy, the tome was likely an ancient treatise on the subject.

The last time Philippe saw Jack was in the crypt at Christ Church Greyfriars. Were the murals finished by now? While he was in London, he intended to check in on them—and Jack.

So far, the bloodsickness Jack suffered from was of a different order from the blood rage afflicting Matthew. According to Hubbard, the pup never displayed any inclination toward violence or anger. But Matthew's rage had been slow to develop. Jack's illness could as well.

George Chapman had been Jack's tutor for many years, and the pup considered him as one of his close friends. He'd already sneaked into the Tower of London multiple times, carrying messages and books to Raleigh. Philippe groaned to himself. He was likely doing the same with Chapman, and causing Hubbard immense frustration in the process, showing there was a bright side to every misdeed. But had Chapman's misfortunes awakened a sleeping curse?

A reappraisal was called for.

Whitehall Palace, London. Monday, November 4, 1605.

"It's been a week," Jack said and looked at Leonard pleadingly. "Can't we sneak into the prison tonight? We don't have a performance at the Globe today. There will be plenty of time to hunt beforehand." Jack grew elated at the slight softening in Leonard's face. He was bound to agree. Their playing company had finished their cycle of plays with the last one, Measure for Measure, performed yesterday. The next cycle wouldn't start for two months. Leonard enjoyed the thrill of a stealth mission as much as he did.

After the latest close call at the Tower when Jack had snuck in to see Sir Walter, Leonard had insisted on accompanying Jack on all his forays. George was being held in Gatehouse Prison next to Westminster Abbey. The building wasn't quite as secure as the Tower but posed challenges of a different sort because of the number of prisoners.

"Father H cornered me yesterday," Leonard confided. "He demanded to know if you were breaking into Gatehouse. I assured him I hadn't heard of any plans."

Jack broke into a grin. "I'm glad I didn't mention it to you yesterday."

Leonard scowled. "You should have been there for the lecture I got about our last visit to see George. Father H's tongue-lashing is worse than any caning."

"I don't want to get you in trouble. I'll go by myself."

Leonard shook his head adamantly. "Remember our bargain. We go in the two of us, or not at all. Besides, shouldn't you be working on your drawings? Inigo will be here any minute." Leonard nodded pointedly at the stack of paper on the oak table.

Jack rolled his eyes. "You don't fool me for an instant. You're not hanging around to discuss my drawings."

Leonard's smitten smile was ample confirmation as if Jack needed any. The arrival of Inigo Jones at court had been accompanied with all the brilliance of a shooting star. The daemon was several years older than Jack but acted about the same age. He'd been under Father H's protection for years. His father was a clothworker in Smithfield, the district north of Blackfriars.

Despite the favor accorded him by his generous patrons, he didn't put on airs. Lady Lucy Russell and Queen Anne were both enthralled with the stage backdrops and costumes he created for masques. Lady Lucy's husband had provided the financial backing for Inigo to study in Italy. Jack tried not to be envious. Bryn's stories of Florence and Venice had already made him want to travel abroad. The court performances staged by the Medici were supposedly far more elaborate than the ones in England.

As if on cue, Inigo strolled into the room. His doublet and breeches were always more resplendent than anyone else of his status. How Inigo got away with wearing velvets and silks without being a member of the nobility could only be because he'd been granted dispensation, likely by the Queen herself. It was no wonder Leonard was in love with him. With his dark curls and pouty lips, Inigo sent the heart racing of more than one of the ladies-at-court. Luckily for Leonard, he preferred men even if they were wearhs.

"Great news!" he declared, bounding forward. "The wedding is on!"

"Not yours, I hope," Leonard said, looking dismayed.

"Of course not, caro mio," Inigo said, ruffling his hair.

Jack busied himself with his drawings. Fortunately, the antechamber appropriated for Inigo's office provided enough privacy for the two to be able to display their affection openly.

"The marriage is between Robert Devereux and Lady Frances Howard," Inigo explained.

"She's a mere child!" Jack exclaimed.

Inigo shrugged. "She's thirteen. Robert's only a year older, but the king is insistent. He's convinced this will put an end to the constant disputes between the families. The politics don't interest me, but what does is the masque that will be performed to celebrate the occasion. The queen has ordered festivities of unparalleled splendor." He strode over to Jack and draped an arm over his shoulders. "It was a lucky day I discovered you're a painter as well as a musician. I'll be so busy designing costumes and sets, I'll need an extra pair of hands."

"And you'll have mine gladly!" Jack said. The pay was far more than he made as a musician.

"And mine as well for whatever you fancy!" Leonard added with a lecherous grin. He'd turned himself into a skilled foreman thanks to his desire to be close to Inigo. His understanding of set construction made him an indispensable intermediary to the carpenters and provided a ready excuse for his constant presence.

Inigo laughed as he dropped into a chair. "Consider yourselves both hired! Lady Lucy has been regaling the queen with accounts of the Medici performances. Her Highness is determined that this one will surpass any performed in Italy."

Jack caught the scent of the countess in the hallway and quickly smoothed his unruly locks in what would likely be a doomed attempt to make them hang straight.

Leonard jumped up as well. "Lady Lucy's on her way," he whispered to Inigo.

"Thanks!" He quickly puffed out the sleeves of his doublet.

"I thought I'd find you here," Lady Lucy said with a satisfied smile as she entered the room while they doffed their hats and bowed. "I have glorious news!" She proceeded to tell them about the masque. Not wanting to spoil her surprise, they acted as if she was the first to tell them.

"Do you know who will write the script, your ladyship?" Jack asked.

"Her Highness insists on the highest caliber," she said arching her brows while trying to maintain a serious expression. It had the effect of making her seem younger than her age. Lady Lucy was only a couple of years older than Jack, and at the moment she looked like she'd readily sneak into Gatehouse Prison with him just for a lark. She approached them more closely and whispered, "Ben Jonson is to be released from prison at once." She turned to Jack. "Your friend George Chapman will as well. The king, in his infinite wisdom, realizes that they were unjustly accused."

Jack sagged with relief, his grin threatening to split his face.

"I expect all of you to clear your schedules from any other responsibilities," she continued. "The nuptials are to be in January at Hampton Court. I hope to entice Ferrabosco to write the music so that it will be as excellent as the script. And with Inigo in charge of the sets and costumes, I have no doubt they'll be magnificent." Her eyes flitted toward Jack's drawings and she swept over to study them.

"Are these yours, Inigo?" she asked.

With a smile toward Jack, he said, "No, your ladyship. Jack did those. He's been assisting me with set decorations."

"Inigo is fortunate to have you!" she declared. "Make sure that you're properly reimbursed. The queen can afford it. I can see that the next time Inigo goes to Italy, you may need to join him. How is your Italian?"

"Inigo is teaching me," Jack said, "but I'm not very proficient yet."

"Now you have an extra incentive." Lady Lucy then murmured something in Italian. She spoke too quickly for Jack to understand her but it made both Inigo and Leonard chuckle.

"Before I leave, I have two messages to relay," she added. "Leonard, the queen has received Dowland's latest books of ayres and is asking for you." She nodded to his instrument propped in the corner. "I'm glad you brought your lute with you. As for you, Jack, Lady Hannah has the afternoon free and is looking forward to another French lesson." Her eyes sparkled mischievously.

It was completely true that Jack was giving Hannah lessons. Lady Lucy spoke fluent French, Italian, and Spanish and encouraged the other ladies-in-waiting to be equally proficient. Her grace had also intimated that she condoned Jack's relationship with Hannah as long as they didn't cause a scandal. Hannah had been married at a young age to a man forty years her senior. The marriage had been strictly for political gain with her husband keeping a slew of mistresses on the side. Jack was Hannah's only dalliance. He knew it couldn't last, and she likely did as well, but their uncertainty about the future only appeared to intensify their attachment to each other.

When Lady Lucy left, Inigo invited Jack and Leonard out to celebrate Ben and George's release from prison. The upcoming yuletide season promised to be particularly festive.

#

Jack found Hannah in their private refuge, a small dressing room used by playing companies when performances were held in the palace. Currently, no production was scheduled so they had the chamber to themselves.

"I think baiser is my favorite French word," Hannah said, closing the door behind him. She proceeded to prove she knew the meaning in a most satisfactory manner.

When their lips parted, Jack said, "I suppose someday we should expand your vocabulary."

She pushed him onto the settle. "I know exactly in which directions."

He chuckled. "You realize that if Lady Lucy begins conversing with you in French, she'll find your vocabulary quite restricted."

"She'll be much too busy preparing for the masque, mon amour! I hope there will be a part for me in it. Inigo's costumes are the most splendid I've ever seen. You're friends with Ben. You'll put in a good word for me?"

"Of course, I will. There are bound to be roles for several beautiful maidens, and Lady Lucy will insist on you being one of them. I still can't believe Ben's ordeal is over."

"It's the talk of court," she confided. "We were all encouraging the queen to intercede on his behalf. I think the king relented just so he wouldn't have to be badgered by the queen. Lord Northumberland was one of many who pleaded for leniency. Supposedly a French count also voiced his support."

"Who was that?" Jack asked, intrigued. Since Lord Northumberland was a member of the Privy Council, Jack had already assumed he was working behind the scenes. Perhaps he'd encouraged the Frenchman.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I heard Lady Lucy talking with the queen about it. Count Philippe de Clermont is at court. They said he spoke eloquently about both Ben and George."

This was the first Jack had heard Philippe was in England. He swallowed down the disappointment that Philippe hadn't contacted him. "Do you know if the count has been here for long?"

"I don't think so. Lady Lucy intimated it was something he discussed during his first audience." She smiled mischievously. "Why? Are you worried I'll practice my French on him?"

"Should I be?" he teased. "I thought all your baisers were for me."

The corners of her mouth drooped forlornly. "I wish they could be."

He draped an arm over her shoulders and squeezed gently. "As do I." They needed to tread carefully for both their sakes. If Father H had his way, Jack wouldn't even be performing at court. Luckily his sire didn't know about his relationship with Hannah, or he'd have his head.

It hurt that Philippe hadn't reached out to him, but it was unrealistic to expect anything else. To a wearh of Philippe's status, Jack was a nobody. For a brief moment in the crypt under the church when Jack showed the count his murals, they'd seemed like a family, but Jack had probably read too much into it.

"Your hands are cold," Hannah said softly. "I wish we could be in a room with a fireplace."

That won't help. "Your warmth is all I need," he assured her. Last summer she'd delighted in his coolness, not realizing the cause, but in winter he could provide her with little comfort.

#

Later that day, Jack switched from being a teacher to a student. When he returned to the workroom, Inigo and Leonard gave him an Italian lesson. They continued to converse in Italian as they left the palace. Jack suspected it was partly so Leonard and Inigo could exchange words of affection without fear of being understood by people on the street.

Their destination to celebrate George and Ben's upcoming release was the Dog and Whistle, a tavern near the palace. As they strode along the quay, Inigo told them about his meeting with Ben that afternoon.

"He was informed that he'll be released tomorrow," Inigo said. "He's as excited about the masque as Lady Lucy. We spent hours discussing ideas for the sets."

"I bet he was working on it in prison," Leonard said. "I heard the queen's been keeping him informed of her matchmaking project."

Inigo grinned. "You'd win that bet. It already has a name—the Masque of Hymen."

"Can you share any details?" Jack asked eagerly.

"The allegory will revolve around the wedding, with the setting transported to ancient Rome," Inigo framed an imaginary scene in the air. "Opportunities abound for antique splendor. It's not every day that I have the opportunity to recreate the magnificence of Jupiter and Juno! Ben is grumbling at me already to not let my settings overwhelm the script."

"The courtiers will be enthralled," Leonard predicted. "Ben will be able to provide a reason for several couples to parade around and display their finery."

"Lady Lucy chief among them," Inigo agreed. "She's already sent me suggestions for her costume. And don't worry, you two won't be shortchanged either. Ferrabosco has agreed to be the composer. Both of you will have plenty of opportunities to perform."

Leonard nudged Jack. "Particularly you. Ferrabosco loves featuring the viol."

The time to prepare for the masque was short since the nuptials were due to take place in January. The next day, Jack and Leonard would supervise packing Inigo's supplies and equipment for the move. Their work would be done at Hampton Court where the masque would take place. Tom was currently staying at Syon, a short distance away by wearh standards. Jack would be able to visit him frequently.

"What do we got here—wop traitors?" a surly voice demanded as they walked past a narrow lane.

Six men clustered around Jack and his friends. They reeked of ale and were clearly spoiling for a fight. Jack groaned to himself. God's Bones, it had been folly to speak Italian on the streets. Violence against Catholic sympathizers was growing more and more common.

"Papist recusants, I warrant," said a giant of a man easily weighing twice as much as Jack. They were already reaching for their daggers.

Jack and Leonard exchanged nods. "Inigo, take off and don't look back," Leonard murmured, continuing to speak Italian. At this point, it was better to not be understood. "We'll meet you later at the tavern."

"But you need my help," Inigo protested, apparently forgetting that as a warmblood, he was by far the weakest of the group.

Leonard ignored him as he and Jack sprang on the thugs. Jack paid little heed to Inigo's fleeing footsteps. Tackling the gang without giving away he was a wearh was all that he could handle and then some.

#

The whiff of blood was strong in Hubbard's nostrils when he entered the bell tower of Christ Church Greyfriars. Jack and Leonard's scents came from one of the rooms in the basement. As Hubbard raced down the narrow stone stairs, he saw a light coming from the room that was equipped with a well to an underground spring. Leonard's voice was a low murmur. When Jack groaned, Hubbard increased his speed.

Jack was stretched on the floor, his face ashen, as Leonard washed a wound on his side. There was also blood on Leonard's garments, but Hubbard didn't see any cuts.

"What happened?" Hubbard demanded.

"We were attacked on the street," Jack said, panting as Leonard pressed a cloth on top of the wound. "Anti-papist gang . . . "

Hubbard brushed Leonard aside. "Get clean linens from the cupboard in my bedroom," he ordered. "Cut them into strips. I'll hold the cloth in place."

Although Jack was a wearh, he didn't have as much healing ability as he should. It was an unavoidable consequence of not feeding off warmbloods. "Dagger?" Hubbard asked.

Jack nodded, his eyes closed. He grimaced as Hubbard pressed down hard on the cloth. The wound was deep and Jack was bleeding profusely. At the rate he healed, he'd need days to fully recover.

When Leonard returned, Hubbard directed him to make a pad with one of the cloths. They then tied it in place. When they'd done as much as they could, Leonard retrieved one of Jack's old shirts for the boy to wear. He'd likely bleed for a while.

"You should go check on Inigo," Jack protested, struggling to sit up.

"I will if you lie quietly," Leonard countered, pressing his shoulders back down. "You're far too weak to get up."

"Inigo was there too?" Hubbard asked, appalled. The daemon was a gifted artist but he was a worse fighter than Jack and, God's Truth, Jack was no warrior.

"He was," Leonard acknowledged, "but when we were accosted, we had him take off. He wasn't involved in the brawl."

Now it made sense. Normally Hubbard lectured wearhs to flee if they were ever assaulted on the streets. Flight was preferable to the risk of exposure. But if they fought to keep Inigo out of harm's way, the violence was acceptable.

"There were six of them," Jack mumbled. "We managed to keep them from pursuing Inigo."

Hubbard rested his hand briefly on his forehead. "Then you did well." Turning his head to Leonard, he added, "You go on. I'll take care of Jack."

"He needs blood," Leonard blurted.

"You think I don't know that, pup? He'll have mine." Jack's bloodsickness was such that he could only tolerate blood from wearhs and animals. Hubbard's blood was much more potent than Leonard's and would accelerate the healing process.

Afterward, Hubbard carried Jack upstairs to his room. He then withdrew to change out of his bloodied cassock. Many in his flock were Catholic. Witches and daemons would have a harder time defending themselves. Leonard had provided enough of a description of the gang that Hubbard could pass the word to the other wearhs in his domain. They'd be on the lookout. Three of the men had been killed in the struggle, but there were three others on the loose and their anti-Catholic fervor would be even stronger now.

When he heard the doors to the nave of the church open, Hubbard bolted downstairs. He doubted strongly any gang member would enter Greyfriars. At this hour it was much more likely to be someone in his flock needing assistance.

"Andrew." Philippe's greeting was typically brusque. Hubbard had heard the count was in London. Philippe was wearing travel clothes in somber hues. He was accompanied by his servant Pierre. "I have news for you and Jack."

Notes: Thanks for reading! Powder Keg has three chapters which I'll post weekly on Saturday.

A few notes about this chapter: Lucy Russell and Inigo Jones are historical figures. For an introduction to them, see my blog post "Backdrop to Powder Keg." To the best of my knowledge, Inigo Jones never married, and I took the liberty of portraying him as gay. My Pinterest board has a pin of Lady Lucy wearing a costume designed by Inigo Jones for The Masque of Hymen.

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