There was no curiosity in the faces of this lost gathering, and Tallow greeted none of them. It seemed that he did not regard himself as part of the tribe. He displayed it with a distant, proprietorial air, in his self-chosen role as their guide. “There are gentlemen here, like yourselves. And well-born ladies. Most, of course, claim to be a little nobler than they actually were. But why should they not? Here they create themselves and their surroundings afresh. It is all they have.”
But Gloriana had at last broken free from the fascination and, in obedience to Una’s terror, was in retreat.
Tallow called out from behind them. They ignored him. They ran through the passages, back to where they had first encountered the little man. They climbed and scrambled up passages and flights of steps, half afraid that they were lost, though the way was familiar: through the carven gallery, which now seemed to threaten, and along the narrow corridors to Una’s rooms, to squeeze through the panel, and slam it shut.
Gloriana was paler than the nomads of the walls. She leaned, in dusty gallant’s guise, panting against the wall. She attempted to speak, but failed. Una said to her: “It must be forgotten. Oh, Your Majesty, I have been so foolish! It must be forgotten.”
Queen Gloriana stood upright. She recalled the great silhouette in the hall and her head filled with terror again. Her face was without expression. Tears ran from her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “It must be forgotten.”
THE FIFTEENTH CHAPTER
Lord Montfallcon lay alone in his substantial bed while his wives in the next chamber rubbed ointments into one another’s wounds, whispering and gasping. He was miserable, unreconciled, self-loathing that morning, for Gloriana’s voice had sounded through the night, pathetic and full of grief, and he had awakened his wives so that their cries would drown the Queen’s. Montfallcon moved his strong old body in the bed and rebuked himself for his lack of vigour, and wondered if, at this time of delicate crisis, his brain, which had held so much, controlled so much, was at last about to fail. The Queen was recently more melancholy than ever, and he could not name the cause. She had cleverly avoided the question of marriage when he had raised it. Lord Montfallcon had also received news of Tom Ffynne’s capture in the Middle Sea. The old pirate, growing short-sighted, had mistaken an Arabian barquentine for an Iberian barque, and now Arabia complained loudly and at length, ritualisti-cally, though the mistake was obvious. Then in the middle of all this, Sir Christopher Martin had died, poisoned, apparently by his own hand, as if he felt dishonoured. This was a bad omen to nobles and to commons. There were rumours of a quarrel between King Casimir and the Grand Caliph; other rumours of a pact between them. There were rumours out of Tatary, rumours from the German and Flemish States, from Iberia and the High Countries, from Africa and from Asia; and Quire, his eye, his hand, his weapon in the world, was missing.
Whether Quire, offended by Montfallcon’s undiplomatic response during their last encounter, played doxy-on- a-high-horse to further his own ends, whether his pride was genuinely wounded, whether he had taken a notion to visit foreign lands or even seek foreign employ, or whether he had paid a price, at last, for his crimes, Montfallcon did not know. And of all things, Lord Montfallcon hated ignorance. It was his impulse, his necessity, to be omniscient. Now not only was his main well of knowledge run dry, but the very location of that well was lost. Frustrated, having no news on which he could base further actions, Montfallcon knew a kind of terror, as a warrior in the heat of battle might feel to receive a hint of imminent paralysis and blindness. It seemed to Montfallcon that unseen enemies were creeping closer and that all he could sense of them was their unspecific malice.
He had failed to understand his tool, Quire, with sufficient complexity; he had imposed a view of the man’s strange character upon the truth; he had broken a rule of his own, which was never to assume, always to interpret. And, because of one lazy failure to interpret Quire, he might have lost his control over the man. Quire worked for the love of his art, as Montfallcon worked for the love of his Ideal, represented in Gloriana. Their partnership, Montfallcon realised, had depended upon that understanding. But he had resented Quire’s suggestion that they were equal, that they collaborated as poets collaborate upon a play In the past Montfallcon had trained himself to deny any expression of pride which might be false or which might threaten his goal, but, in his last interview with Quire, he had let his anger, his arrogance, dominate him and so clash with Quire’s own pride. He understood now that if Quire had attacked him on like grounds-accusing him, say, of base motives in his work for Albion-he might have felt the same fury. And yet Montfallcon respected Quire’s intelligence. It did not seem typical of the man that he should sulk this long. A day or so, certainly. Even a week. It had been a month. It occurred to Montfallcon that Quire might be planning some form of vengeance against him, but Quire’s particular nature was not of the sort to turn to petty revenge. More likely Quire proved himself, performing some complicated espionage, the results of which he would present to Montfallcon by way of a challenge.
Montfallcon, however, could be sure of none of this. Because he had misjudged once, he had lost some of his faith in his own judgement: he could misjudge again.
With a groan he floundered from sheets which stank of lavender and sweat. He must prepare himself for the day.
The snag-toothed knave, Quire’s lieutenant, in his coney cap and his overlarge leather greatcoat, his gallooned doublet, his puffed hose and turned-down jack-boots, who waited for Lord Montfallcon in the small chamber, striking a pose with longsword and cocked leg, was a sight to encourage Montfallcon that morning, so that he greeted Tinkler almost merrily, enquiring after his health and his fortunes. He bustled, in his usual grey and black, to his desk, where, it seemed, more paper than usual had gathered. He frowned.
“Well, Master Tinkler?”
“My lord?”
“You’ve news of Captain Quire?”
“No, my lord. Nothing certain. I came because I thought that you might reassure me. Also, the debts mount, you know, and the Captain has not paid me in a month. I still work on his behalf.”
Montfallcon studied a letter from Bantustan. “Eh? What is it, then, Master Tinkler? You’ve come for gold?”
“Or silver, sir. Something to keep me going until Captain Quire returns, or-”
“Have you heard ought of Quire?”
“There was some gossip, my lord, that’s all. When we left you here last, we went together to the Ares Gate and then parted, agreeing to meet a few hours later. He never found me at the inn and, to my knowledge, has never been there since. The gossip concerned a scuffle by the Ares Gate. The Captain, or someone like him, was attacked and carried off, either dead or wounded.”
“By whom?”
“No witnesses, sir. This news is all indirect, you see. A child saw it, maybe. Or a housewife behind a curtain. There’s other rumours followed, but Captain Quire has taught me well-I go to the core and at the core remain, until there’s more discovered.”
“You pursued the tale?”
“Of course, sir, for Captain Quire’s my friend. And my benefactor. And more. I asked at every house. I enquired the direction of every cart coming from the Ares Gate. I made enquiries of every ruffler and cutpurse I could find. It seems that a gang was recruited and that Captain Quire might have been their prey But I know not who they are, nor who employed them, nor why they were employed.”
“There’s an angel for you, Tinkler.” Montfallcon stretched his hand towards the scrawny rogue. “And I’ll have more if you can prove Captain Quire’s whereabouts or his fate. You think he’s dead?”
“The Saracens are said to have been seeking him.”
“It is not their custom to hide the body of a man on whom they’ve taken vengeance. They would display Quire.”
“True. I’ve seen more than one corpse of theirs, when I was with the Captain on that errand in the Middle Sea, my lord.”
