called the Rolls of Arms. From throughout the Realm the knights had come to compete before the Queen. Here were famous names-Tirante, Duke of Lyonesse, from the Isles of the West; Sir Gandalac of the Vale of Lune in the North Country; Sir Esplandian of Valentia; Sir Hector of the Ranach in Hibernia; Sir Turquine of Lincoln; all with their yeomen, their pages and their gentlemen, their heralds and their squires. And from beyond Albion came Sir Hakan of Tauron, the Huron King, with his armour all decorated with war-feathers and beads; Sir Herlwin of Wicheetaw; King Desrame of Mauretania; the Emir of Saragossa; Prince Hira of BomBai; the Sultan Matroco of Aethiopia; Prince Shan of Cathay; Sir Bulamwe of Benin-many of them familiar to the crowd, for they attended the Tilt every year, competing not only in arms, but in the splendour of their accoutrements, their weapons, their horses and their attendants; who were clad in fantastical costumes as fauns, wild-men, godlings. Some brought beasts, such as unicorns, elephants and cameleopards, to draw their marvellous chariots; some rode as if to hounds, with packs of trained hyaenas, or apes; and Sir Miles Cockaigne, whose boast was that he had never won a fight in his whole career, had fiddlers and dancers in his entourage, while his yeomen carried sack-buts instead of arms and he himself, in chequered surcoat and loose, lozenge-linked motley-coloured mail, came as Sir Harlekin the Bold, to bring laughter to both Queen and crowd.
All sought to please Gloriana, yet the nobles from the castles and the great houses of Albion, who maintained their estates and tenants in her name and the name of Chivalry, who administered her laws, who belonged to that generation which worshipped her and for whom she was a symbol of faithfulness and idealism, they studied her, anxious for affirmation which she must supply, knowing how easily the virtues of Romance can transmogrify and become the vices of Cynicism. Through her, and with her absolute support, Montfallcon had re-fashioned the mood of Albion, through a subtle use of pageantry and myth-telling a golden lie in the strong belief that it stood, in time, to become a silver truth-a lie which almost all were ready to accept, for the same reasons as Montfallcon gave it out. And the Accession celebrations, which would last the full week, were a visible sign of their participation in and commitment to those principles. So they saluted Gloriana, and were merry, fighting in good friendship and according to complicated Chivalric codes, in a display to please the commons, to confirm their loyalty to all that Gloriana meant, to compete not merely in matters of physical grace, but in rituals of honour and humility, to give visible reality to their will towards spirituality, towards the true meaning of Chivalry.
The Queen, withdrawing into the long gallery, where, as was the royal habit, she might sit and watch the tourney through the glass which protected her from dust and, to a degree, from noise, behaved in manner so easily that some of those who did not know her might have thought her callous, that she forgot lost friends so swiftly. Many foreign ambassadors filled the gallery, as well as favourite maids of honour and companions, their suitors, relatives of Privy Councillors, wives and children of the competitors below, acquaintances of the Queen from the provinces who took this chance to visit her, as well as the best part of the Privy Council itself, which would not today attend the Tilt, but would wait upon her, in the colours of Romance, on the last day, Accession Day, when she must appear as Queen Urganda the Unknown, mysterious and beneficent sorceress of legend, friend of heroes, saviour of the noble and the brave.
Gloriana acted the role of Gracious Sovereign with an energy derived from unfamiliar anger at the injustice of her position. Montfallcon had insisted she be there, recalling to her those pledges she had made to him even before she took the throne, reminding her of Albion’s heritage, its meaning and its worth. Her conscience had been awakened by him, but not her spirit. She had seen the sense of his insistence, but nonetheless resented it. She had always, in the past twelve years, enjoyed her Accession Day ceremonies, culminating in the Masque in which she played the central role, but with Una gone, with Mary gone, with kind, silly Sir Tancred gone, she could only feel their absence more poignantly, and she mourned for them while she smiled and chatted and from time to time lifted a gay hand to the window.
She felt betrayed-by the innocent Una, by the knowing Montfallcon, by council, companions and friends-for she had no friends now, only subjects, dependents, her servants, her secrets. Such feelings drove her to great displays of wit. She was no longer herself. She played Gloriana’s part at full stretch, and few guessed she might soon snap, and of the few who guessed, fewer cared. She was like a splendid flagship, all sails unfurled to catch the wind, all colours flying, brass and woodwork, gilding and paint flashing in the sunlight, cheered on by everyone who watched her glide across the water, and none to know that, below the waterline, she had no rudder and no anchor.
The first tourney commenced, in the special yard erected upon the large artificial island in the middle of the ornamental lake, so that the whole mass of people might have a fair view of the proceedings.
Sir Timon of the Bridge of Graveny a young knight in blue and white, jousted against the more experienced Sir Peregrine of Kilcolman Castle, in red, gold and black, and Sir Timon was soon unhorsed, whereupon Sir Peregrine dismounted, took two pikes and, helping his antagonist to his feet, handed him one so that they might continue their fight until one fell or five pikes broke. In their heavy, fanciful tilting armour, in closed helms and full plate, the knights moved slowly and deliberately about the field, and, like dancers in an ancient mime, struck at one another with stylised gracefulness. Above them, surrounding them, the crowd was quiet, sweating in the August heat and conscious of the discomfort of the jousters, who roasted slowly as they fought.
Lord Oubacha Khan caught Queen Gloriana’s eye as she turned from the scene. He smiled and bowed and she cried out: “Good my lord, come and sit with me. It has been a while since we talked.”
The tall Tatar, in his golden surcoat and silver mail, the formal costume of a noble of his own land, approached and kissed the Queen’s hand. “I was concerned,” he said in a low voice, “of the well-being of the Countess of Scaith.”
Gloriana drew him down upon the couch. “As are we all, my lord.” She spoke lightly.
“I admired the lady very much.”
Gloriana did not drop her guard, but she was sure she read sincerity in the Oriental’s dark eyes. “As did I, Lord Oubacha Khan.”
“There is talk that she is dead.”
“And talk that she is fled. And talk, indeed, my lord, that she has gone to live with your own master, in Tatary, at your Muscovian capital.”
Oubacha Khan smiled very slightly. “Would that she had, Your Majesty.”
“You do not seem to think she was a murderess.”
“I do not care. If she is alive, I would find her.”
Gloriana was surprised by his intensity, but she remained a formal Queen. “That is Lord Rhoone’s responsibility, and Lord Montfallcon’s.”
Oubacha Khan murmured a secret. “My own people also search.”
“In Albion?”
“Everywhere, Your Majesty.”
“Then you must be sure to tell Lord Rhoone of anything you hear, my lord.”
“I shall, of course, Your Majesty. But strangely we have heard nothing. There is no evidence she left the palace at all.”
“Ah, indeed?” So painful was the subject that Queen Gloriana turned away, pretending boredom, so that she should hide her true feelings, her interest.
“We continue to search.”
“We have heard, my lord, that Tatar merchants do good trade,” began Gloriana in a voice slightly higher than was natural, “with the peoples of our East Indian provinces, the mountain states of Pathania and Afghania especially. Do your merchants grow rich?”
He, too, became a public man. He said: “Merchants grow rich or they perish, Your Majesty. Some grow rich, doubtless.”
“Trade between nations brings knowledge and knowledge brings wisdom, my lord. Do your merchants become wise, also?” She performed the function Montfallcon expected of her, so that she need not think of Una.
“The Tatar nation is famous for its wisdom, Your Majesty.”
“Wisdom teaches that trade builds peace and prosperity, while war brings only poverty and further strife.” She pursued this conscientious reasoning, yet seemed to the Khan to be half entranced as her attention went to the window.
“There is a kind of wisdom, Your Majesty,” he continued, virtually as automatic as she, “that is merely
