sworn by both the spectre and the blood

[i_am_elizabeth]

It is with the strangest sense of freedom I walk the trails of the jungle island today. The air is not so thick with its usual moisture and is cooler given the recent rain, this brief reprieve from which I have decided to take make full opportunity of, and the sun, which already fights the thin and gently rolling cloud cover is fully tamed by that

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[strandedseaman]

"Madam!" Horatio's voice was thin in his alarm, shrill in a way he would berate himself for after when whatever trauma he'd stumbled upon here had passed. He rushed forward at the sight of the Queen on her knees, uncertain even as he ran if he ought not be looking away out of respect, but he couldn't very well leave here there.

"Madam, please," he said as he reached her, "tell me what I may do."

[i_am_elizabeth]

I know his voice and so do not recoil- in fact I grab his arm, my fingers taught and digging into the fabric there, though I keep my face hidden, my eyes fiercely shut.

"Tell me it is gone, Horatio. Tell me I did not see it for it is not there!"

[strandedseaman]

Horatio tore his eyes from the sight of her and looked up, his assessment of the scene as swift as it was precise. An executioner's block. He'd not seen one since France, but this was no French machination. That wood was as English as he himself, and undoubtedly a gift from the island.

And then there was the small, stomach curdling matter of that head.

Her daughter's, then. Or perhaps her troublesome kin, Mary Stuart. "Madam," Horatio said slowly. "Regrettably, I cannot." He swallowed thickly. "But I will gladly take it elsewhere."

[i_am_elizabeth]

"Please," I whisper desperately desperately, hating myself for the weakness, my hand dropping from where it does nothing to protect my face to press feebly and ineffectually against my stomacher, as though it would press away the nausea.

"I know not what to do with it. I cannot- Oh, God, that I have done such a thing at all but to find this here and have no proper way of putting her to rest-" My voice fails. It is too much. I feel as though all the blood has drained from me and left me cold and hollow.

[strandedseaman]

"There is a cemetery." The words blurted past Horatio's unwilling lips - he wanted little more to do with the head than did the Queen, whomever's it might be, but he could not help his brain casting about for some way to assuage the terrible grief on Elizabeth's face.

"She may yet be put to rest."

[i_am_elizabeth]

"I've no business of it," I protest, shuddering, turning myself further from the block, all but hiding my face beyond Horatio's shoulder. I did not know her, but I knew her enough to know her death was by my hand and by Philip's design. If only Walsingham had seen.

"There must be someone- God, let it be a Catholic, let the duty fall to anyone but me. I cannot, I haven't the right, and though it shames me to speak it I cannot think even to look again."

[strandedseaman]

There were a number of Catholics on the island, this much Horatio's excellent memory was able to supply, but as for one both willing and qualified to perform a burial...

Horatio pulled himself carefully away, standing to shuck his outer coat and thanking god, Catholic or otherwise, that he still insisted on wearing his uniform on patrol. He dared another look at the head, then said around a second wet swallow, "Madam, you will not see it again."

He took one step towards the head, and then another, at last reaching down with his hands covered by the fabric to lift the head from the ground, fashioning his coat into a poor replica of the burial shroud it ought to have received.

[i_am_elizabeth]

I keep my arms around myself, wrestling with the shame, of what I had done and how I have reacted and of Horatio having born witness now to both. My breath feels deep and ragged within my chest, and though I am embarrassed there is no flush in my cheek- I cannot muster the warmth.

"Thank you, lieutenant," I say, and scarcely recognize my voice for how thin and strangely girlish it seems.