By the twilight hour and under the crude lamps of animal fat, the witches weaved a confusing mass of twine, twig, and string. A creation with intention only the witches knew. A creation that covered their wicked ditch. Through the holes magic leaked into the world. Upon the heath it crawled as fog towards the shores of Windsor to welcome a man who knew God but only performed the devil.

"By the twitching of mine eyes, something wicked this way rides," said the youngest witch; her eyes glazed in white moonlight and fingers sewing the tangled mass.

"By the denizens of Earthly delight, a cruel lecher brings a horrid fright," said the middle witch; her hands twisting the strings into tangles and adding clay figures into the holes.

"By the snuffing of innocent breath, a Godly wind brings a man of death," said the eldest witch as she sliced a long blade through the web.

"Fie!" they all cried out at once. In a gust of wind the candlelight retreated leaving the trio to chant in the dim moonlight.

"With a hiss,

and a snap,

and a creak,

and a crack,

Our fingers weave a tale of woe.

Mixing fire with blood in cherished mud

To command the forces down below.

From this weary web we ease the ebb

Of the moon that makes the water flow.

Then mesh together this ground and weather

To forge a pact with snake and crow."

"He cometh! A beast cometh!"

The witches placed the web flat on the ground. It shook about like a blanket caught in the wind until it took the shape of London complete with harbors and buildings. The witches waved their hands over the display sending a small boat made of twigs to scoot down a river of string.

"There," said the middle one, "my champion rides. Madness leads him on the incoming tides. Prepare thyselves for the coming dawn, so approacheth not a man but a hellish spawn."

From the fog a small ship quietly sailed into port. The flag showed the crest of a noble Welsh family. On it flashed markings of snakes and crows within red stripes and white swirls hovering below a knight's helmet. An old man stood on the docks holding a large pole. Swinging at the top a lantern glowed over the eerie waters of the Thames. The night breathed a disgusted aura as the ship filtered into the halo of the light. 

Perched on the ship's port side a man in a black cloak gazed through the bleakness. A small fluffed feather protruded from his hat while a pair of leather gloves peeked out of his pocket. Iron tipped boots clanged on the wooden deck as this man impatiently tapped his foot. A scar etched from his inner eye, across his cheek, and down into his neck. It bounced as he whispered to himself.

"Upon this land I make my stand. Only in a coffin will I leave this shore. Nothing will break my merit, or stop my spirit. Nothing will quiet my roar."

The crew tied the ship and lowered the gang plank. The man in black descended.

"Duke, mighty Duke William of Wales," exclaimed the man with the pole as five abled boys appeared at his side. "Arrive thee at the witching hour. Pray God hath sent thee."

"God sends his tithings." A pair of coins fell from the duke's hands into the man's eagar palm. "Now unload my things and grant me fine wine and food. Though the hour is late, I hunger for a warm cooked meal."

"It shall be done, my lord," said the man with the pole. He whistled sending the boys onto the ship.

The Duke sauntered up the steps onto the road above where Abel, the Queen's loyal chancellor, waited. Abel a man of sunken eyes and thin lips. His frame was well forged beneath his red velvet waistcoat; his tight bronze shirt who's mantle was lined with fur formed around his thick arms and chest. His broad brimmed hat dotted with cherry blossoms silhouetted in the moonlight.

"Welcome to Windsor Castle, Duke William of Wales," hissed the Chancellor; his eyes peering at the Duke. "I am Abel."

"Welcome indeed I am, Lord Abel," said the Duke with a smile. "Gracious to her majesty who so summoned me. Now I must retire for the journey has been long and the night is short."

"The finest room for our finest guest has been prepared," said the Chancellor as he escorted the duke. "I trust thee will be comfortable."

The two men walked silently down a long stretch of well pruned gardens. For all the flowers under the moon and ever has been filled the garden walls and terraces with a spectacular view worthy of any nightly stroll. The pair passed many torches, the heat lifted off warming them. When they stepped underneath an archway of roses, Abel placed his hand across the Duke's chest ceasing him in his tracks.

"Stop," said Abel. "We are alone in the fog and found we have the perfect place for plotting the future. You must know it was not the queen who summoned thee, but I."

"Speak candor to me, old friend. I knew that letter was writ by your hand and no scribe. What calls me here?"

Abel looked over his shoulder. He spied no one.

"The Queen is aging, her focus distracted. You, a man of battle and God, have surely seen the turmoil England faces within and what men do for faith. These Catholics threaten to usurp our queen and twist the control back to Rome. We cannot have this, and yet I fear a rebellion rises."

"What have I to do with this?"

"I have known thee all my life and in court you were a man of honor. Since you left and the king died, our queen has forsaken her duties to selfish desires. While I love and cherish my queen, she needs a husband to rule her and take charge before all is lost."

"I came here with the intention to woo the princess not the aged queen."

"Imagine, my lord, to be herald as his majesty. No growing old for the queen to fade but sudden to become the sovereign of England. The queen might live for decades more unless you woo her hand instead."

The Duke rubbed his chin. Dark plots twisted in his mind.

"You have made your point," said the Duke.

"I would see you on the throne," mumbled Abel. "A protestant king, a man of supreme nobility, would make none better in this time of need."

"Let me consider," said the Duke, placing his hand on Abel's shoulder. "You give me much to think about. I'd convince Queen Orphillia to marry when she states not; that is quite the challenge."

"That is where I will whisper in her ear and present a game that she cannot refuse. A game, my friend, you will win."

"Hmm, interesting," hummed the Duke. "A game it is." The two men shook hands as suddenly a young boy rushed up to them.

"Lord Chancellor," said the young boy, "I have a message." The boy whispered into the Chancellor's ear. Upon delivering his message, the boy left. Abel turned to the Duke.

"Forgive me," he said. "I must attend to an urgent matter. I will send someone to escort you. Please remain for a moment."

Scurrying across the lawn, the Chancellor vanished into the fog. The Duke leaned on the archway and chuckled.

"A friend but a fool that man be to think I will treasure him for his deeds when I am king," said the Duke. "King William. Now what a ring that makes." He stared at the dark outline of the castle. "Turn away oh blessed God, for the sin I plot upon this night is not meant for thine holy ears. I hear rumors that Princess Margarete will not take a husband so to woo her might end in failure. And to wait for an arranged marriage by this queen might make no promises to me. So if an easy win is assured to me I will marry this aged queen."

A crow landed on the archway. It cawed into the night. The Duke continued.

"And once I marry and kingship I gain, I have to stop a religious war. Think, William think. How shall I join the forces of Catholic and Protestant to make a complete England?"

The crow cawed again. The Duke jumped with a devilish idea.

"That is it! A war, a common foe, joins all enemies to fight. The Spanish will be held responsible for the sudden death of a queen, and I, a king so strongly composed, will unite my realm with anger. So then I see a chance to demand an arranged marriage between the princess and I. This be the game I secretly play where I alone am victorious."