Ormond House - The Bones of Avalon

He was known to be an astrologer but, if these prophecies were drawn from the heavens, then oft-times he and I saw different stars.

I read the verse, as neatly transcribed by Mistress Cadwaladr.

In the land of the great religious divide

The dead witch shall haunt her daughter

Till she shall kiss the bones of the King of all Britons

And have them entombed again in glory

Explicit. The dead witch, not Morgan le Fay.

What was the sequence here? When had the forecast been received? Had the Queen believed herself haunted before or after its receipt? Either way, Nostradamus, if it was he, would know precisely what he was doing, the alleged bond of witchcraft between the Queen and her late mother having long been common gossip in France.

Was it, then, an invented prophecy designed to unbalance the Queen in her mind? How much of this was going on? Think… the waxen effigy, all talk of which Walsingham had suppressed before it could reach court… the pamphlet prediction of the Queen’s death which had somehow found its way through the security. How organised was it, this mixture of sorcery and Machiavellian mind-play?

And why had the Queen not been advised of what appeared to be a subtle, many-pronged assault on her senses, the higher mind and the lower mind, in wakefulness and sleep?

Unless she was given false advice, whether knowingly or in ignorance.

Did the answer to this lie in the line, they appear to have been secretly obtained?

Obviously, we had spies in France at all levels of society. Had one of them got his hands on unpublished Nostradamus quatrains relating to the Queen of England? If this verse, for example, had been received as intelligence, then its credibility would obviously be enhanced.

The Queen was superstitious, and there was no denying the eminence of Nostradamus, the respect afforded to him in France. I’d heard him credited many times with that terrifying prophecy of the killing of King Henri in the jousting, even though it came out of Italy. If Nostradamus said there was a bad air, people in France stayed indoors, farmers delayed the harvest. Our own archbishop, Parker, was once said – though he’d denied it – to have been deterred from accepting the Canterbury post by a prophecy of Nostradamus.

And the man’s published predictions relating to the Queen had been so full of spleen as to be considered French Catholic filth. Never in the kingdom has arrived one so bad, he’d written when her path to the throne had been clear. Making reference also to her poor parentage. Anne.

Intelligence from France would be passed to the Queen in person by Sir Nicholas Throckmorton. Did Cecil know of this?

‘You look perturbed, Dr John,’ Mistress Cadwaladr said. ‘And, if I may say so, very tired.’

Cowdray had left us alone, with a jug of small beer.

‘I’m well,’ I said.

No use in further conjecture. This should be discussed with Dudley, who knew Throckmorton far better than I did.

‘Master Cowdray,’ Mistress Cadwaladr said, ‘in asking for my help… told me you’d become quite intimate with Eleanor.’

I looked up, startled. This was, it must be said, a woman of mature beauty, and the level of translation had said much for her intellect.

‘We’d known one another only days,’ I said. ‘But there was… much we had in common. I was intent on becoming her advocate at the assize. Distressed when she wouldn’t see me.’

‘I also find that hard to accept. Do you think you were lied to?’

‘It occurred to me. But… no. I think she was in some way persuaded to…’

‘Confess? How could she be persuaded to confess away her life?’

‘I don’t know.’

Mistress Cadwaladr placed her hands together, palm to palm, touching her fingers to her lips.

‘Anything relating to witchery seems yet to be outside all normal rules. Her mother’s confession was the same. I worked with Cate in her garden. I’d grown herbs for the abbey kitchens, and later we’d both studied the works of St Hildegard of Bingen, regarding the curative properties of plants.’

‘Does that mean you were her first link with the abbey?’

‘In a way. Before her marriage, she worked alongside me there, as a kitchen maid. But when, much later, she became the abbot’s friend, I was never party to their discussions.’

‘I wish I’d known of you earlier,’ I said.

‘Oh…’ She looked not comfortable. ‘It’s some years since I left the garden. Not everyone would remember.’

Disappointing. I’d been about to ask her if she knew what Cate Borrow had been engaged in before her arrest. I can only think my next question came out of an instinct.

‘Mistress Cadwaladr, why did you stop working with her? If that’s not an intrusive question.’

‘It’s something I’d normally consider quite intrusive. I’ve never spoken of it. I’m a private person and would not, in usual circumstances, even have come here today. But then… these circumstances are far from normal, aren’t they?’

Kissing her fingertips again, as if this helped her reach a decision. I heard the clatter of hooves outide the window.

She said, ‘Dr Matthew Borrow… is a good doctor. Studied at the famous Montpellier College. A great finesse in bone-setting, extraction of teeth. Able to conduct clever surgery to drain fluids from the brain, remove stones from the bladder. His hands… so deft and sensitive. Skills of a kind seldom – or so I’m told – found even in London. Glastonbury has been fortunate to keep him.’

‘He can’t have made much money here.’

‘No. I…’ She closed her eyes for a moment, bit her lip. ‘Friendship with Cate led me to assist Matthew in his work. Which, after a time, became… difficult. He has a strong… presence. A powerfully attractive emanation.’

‘Oh.’

I’m not sure what explanation I might have been expecting, but it hadn’t been this.

‘I had a respect for Cate,’ she said, ‘and she was devoted to Matthew and all that he’d done for her. I didn’t want to… It became that I could not be near him.’

‘And did he…?’

‘No. He is a good man. A man of steadfast purpose. A Godly man.’

‘But-’

‘So I went back to Wales, to my brother’s house. Only returning last year, after his death. That was when I learned what had happened to Cate. What she’d become, that was tragic.’

There was a silence. I heard the inn doors opening and voices in the passage.

‘What are you saying, Mistress?’

‘The herbs she used to grow were good herbs. I can only think she’d been mixing with the wrong folk, and it all went bad. He must have been sorely disappointed in her.’

‘Matthew Borrow?’

She looked, for a moment, shocked at what Pandora’s Box she might have opened. Yet, in my fatigue, I could not see what was in it.

‘And now her daughter gone the same way… I should have seen it in her. She became my physician when I returned, and I thought she displayed the best qualities of her father. Not realising…’

‘You’ve… seen Matthew since your return? I mean-’

‘Most certainly not. Please.’ She stood up. ‘Forgive me. I’m glad I was able to assist with your translation.’

The fatigue in me put subtlety beyond reach.

‘You think Cate-? You’re saying you believe both of them truly were witches?’

‘I… know not quite what I’m saying. And, indeed, would not be saying it at all if Eleanor were not facing the same fate. I can’t help thinking it beyond a coincidence. I beg mercy. Must go.’

I should have persisted. Should not have let her leave so easily. Should have insisted on asking her more, but I’d heard Joe Monger’s voice in the passageway and was impatient to hear the news from Butleigh.