Free Ophelia by Lisa Klein

hidden. But I saw with relief that it was still locked. I grabbed my homespun costume from beneath my mattress and thrust it at her.
    "Here. Is this the proof you seek?"
    "Why would you so disgrace yourself in these rags?" she said, fingering the dress in disbelief before dropping it. "Then again, I don't know why I am surprised that you love basely."
    It was a wonder that Cristiana had not discovered that it was Hamlet I loved. I should have been thankful for her ignorance. Instead I loathed her pride, her lies, and her disdain of me when I should have despised myself for lying to Gertrude. But I was blinded and had no use for reason, desiring only to take revenge on Cristiana for her cruelties to me.

Chapter 10
    The idea for my plot began with a ribald tale of mistaken love I had once read to Gertrude. I saw how, by imitating it, I could trick Cristiana and sow discord to the confusion of all.
    I told Hamlet my plan, disguising its motive, for I did not want him to think me too unkind.
    "An excellent device, worthy of a playwright." His praise was like honey to a bee, and I sucked it up.
    "By this means I will test the mettle of Cristiana and her two suitors," I said.
    "May it prove them false, like bad coins," Hamlet replied. While I aimed at Cristiana's pride, Hamlet relished the opportunity to trick Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. "This will pierce their puffed-up ambitions," he exulted.
    "But we must hide our authorship of this work," I cautioned, and Hamlet agreed.
    Our plot was to unfold at the banquet celebrating the twentieth year of King Hamlet's rule. The evening would be filled with masking, dancing, and feasting. In preparation, men and women borrowed each other's finery and planned fanciful disguises. An excited Cristiana collected feathers of every color and stitched them to a mask, for she had found this note in her pocket:
By your cloak of red and feathered face
You give me proof that I have won the race.
My prize I'll take, 'tis earned but free
Beneath the spreading boughs of the willow tree.
    The verse was signed Rosencrantz, the name perfectly executed by Hamlet. Meanwhile I had copied Cristiana's hand to write the note Hamlet delivered to Rosencrantz's rival. This note read:
I can no longer hide my longing for you, gentle Guildenstern. Tonight the red bird perches in the willow tree. She awaits the hooded black crow. Catch me and I am yours.
    On the night of the banquet, firelight flashed on the walls of the great hall and rush torches sent up their oily smoke. Spiced wine poured from spigots, overflowed pitchers and goblets, and was consumed like water. Tables groaned under joints of venison and pork, smoked fish, and meat pies. I drank a little wine, though not enough to make me tipsy, and sat with the ladies, sucking on plums and sweet figs. A juggler made his way through the crowd, keeping several oranges aloft at once. Dancers wearing bells stepped high, clapping to the beat of tabors and the whistle of pipes.
    From his throne, King Hamlet beheld the scene, his queen beside him. In deference to the glad occasion, his foot kept the rhythm of the dance and his usually stern mien was softened. Old Yorick had died, and a younger fool now made King Hamlet laugh, though not so heartily as he used to.
    By contrast, Claudius took his pleasures fiercely, carousing with his cup in hand. His mask was lifted, the better to feed himself. Drops of wine, ruby red, splashed his tunic and the floor. He pinched the curves of many women, careless of the spilled wine that stained their costumes. Before the king he made an exaggerated bow, nearly toppling to his knees. He began a speech, but the king cut off his slurred words. So Claudius seized Gertrude's hand, urging her to join the revelry. With a show of reluctance, she left her husband's side to appease Claudius by dancing. King Hamlet's look grew dark.
    This drama was but one of the night's shows. My own plot was of greater interest to me then. In my dark blue