THE TWENTY-FIFTH CHAPTER
Lord Ingleborough lay with his hand clutched about the arm of his chair, with his head upon the rest behind him, square before the open door of his lodgings, which opened onto a small, homely courtyard that, in turn, opened onto the great square beyond. In Ingleborough’s courtyard grew marigolds and roses, while a small fountain played from the centre of a pool. It was a warm evening and he was watching insects form patterns with the water’s spray. His footmen waited on him, with brandy wine to hand, while from time to time he would ask after the missing Patch, affectionately believing the lad to have strayed off, indulging, as he sometimes did, in games with his fellows. The gate of the courtyard opened with a creak, to make him focus his eyes, in the hope of seeing Patch. But the approaching figure was somewhat taller (though by no means a tall man) and wore faded black. It was Captain Quire, the Queen’s new favourite, the man whom tomorrow Ingleborough had promised to accuse. Ingleborough thought it possible that Montfallcon, in his fury, had apprised Quire of this intent and that Quire now came to placate him, or to parley. The old man straightened in his chair.
Captain Quire had already doffed his headgear, to display the mass of thick black hair framing his face. His sombrero was beneath his cloak, in hidden right hand, while his hidden left was upon the hidden pommel of the sword which the Queen, in her infatuation-naming him her Champion-had allowed him to retain.
“My Lord High Admiral.” The man’s voice was level and even gentle in its tones. He bowed civilly. “You enjoy these evenings, my lord?”
“The warmth loosens my bones a little, Captain Quire.” Ingleborough, always the most sentimental of the three survivors, found himself unable to adopt any kind of haughtiness to the stranger, particularly since he had also taken a large amount of brandy and so further mellowed a mellow nature. “They are seizing up, you know, day by day. Petrifying, my physician says.” He twisted his lips-a smile. “Soon I shall be all stone, and the agony, at least, shall be gone. I’ll stand over there,” a nod into the courtyard, “and save a mason the trouble of carving my memorial.”
Captain Quire allowed amusement to show.
“Some wine, Captain?” Ingleborough made a painful movement.
“Thank you, sir, but I will not.”
“You do not have the look of a drinker. Are you one of those who believes all wine an evil?”
“Merely a time-waster, my lord. A clouder. Nations have been made great or brought to disaster by the stuff. I acknowledge its power. And power is not necessarily evil.”
“I’ve heard you’ve a taste for power.”
“You’ve heard of me, my lord. I’m flattered. From whom?”
“Lord Montfallcon, who is my old friend. He tells me you were in his employ.”
“He was my patron for a while, aye.” Quire leaned against the doorframe so that he was half in shadow, half in light, sideways to the Lord High Admiral.
“I formed the impression from him that you were a rough sort of fellow.” Lord Ingleborough was studying him. “And something of a villain.”
“I do have that reputation in certain quarters, my lord. As has Lord Montfallcon. And Sir Thomasin Ffynne. All have had to be harsh, on occasions, for expediency’s sake.”
“And I?”
Quire seemed almost surprised. “You, my lord? You have led an exemplary life, all things considered. Oddly, you are not thought secretly wicked.”
“Oho, Captain. You came to flatter me, after all!”
“No, my lord. Besides, Lord Montfallcon and Sir Thomasin are in the main admired for their cunning. I was not praising you.”
“But I am more pious, eh?”
“Innocent of blood, at least.” Quire continued to speak softly and casually, as if he passed a little time with a sick friend whom he regularly visited. “And it must have been a rare soul could remain innocent through King Hern’s reign.”
“I have never been called innocent before. Why, I’m a known sodomist. All these footmen of mine-these young men-have been my lovers.” Ingleborough shifted in his chair. He turned to look at his grinning servants. He was piqued. “Innocent!” Yet Quire had managed to please him. “Ho, ho!” He winced as the pain ran through him. “Hypocrates, Hypocrates! I do so need thy aid! More wine, Crozier.” The footman filled a pewter cup with brandy from a jug and put the cup to Ingleborough’s lips. “I thank you.”
He looked sharply up at Quire. “I’ve played my share in building the new Albion, you know. I’ve gone against my chosen beliefs once or twice, for the Queen’s sake-to protect the Realm. And I’ll protect the Realm against any enemy.”
“As would we all, I think. I have served the Queen’s interests consistently.”
“Have you, truly?”
Captain Quire put a finger to a lifted lip. “Well, sir, shall we say that I have taken actions which others have told me were in the Queen’s interest?”
“You have no opinion? Is that what you are saying? Or are you sceptical?”
“I have no opinion.”
“Then you are amoral.”
“I think, my lord, that that is probably what I am.” Quire smiled delightedly as if Ingleborough had all of a sudden enlightened him. “Amoral. As any artist must be, in many respects-save, of course, in the defence of his art.”
“You are an artist, sir?” Ingleborough gestured rapidly for more wine to be poured into him. “In paint? In stone? Or are you a playwright? A poet? A writer of prose?”
“Closer to the last, I would say.”
“You are modest. You must tell me more of your art,” Ingleborough had taken a strong liking to Quire, though his opinion of the man would not alter his pledge to Montfallcon.
“I think not, my lord.”
“You must. You have my attention, Captain Quire. Why hide a talent? Tell me what you do. Music? Mime? Or are you, in your private rooms, a dancer?”
Quire laughed. “No, sir. But I’ll give you an example of my art if it’s to you alone.”
“Excellent. I’ll dismiss the servants.” He moved his head slightly and was interpreted. The footmen left their master and Quire together.
“Lord Montfallcon has told you that I aided him in his policies,” said Quire, as if he had overheard that morning’s conversation. “He has mentioned a Saracen, the King of Poland. I laboured mightily in his cause, my lord. I travelled the whole globe. I have been to the famous land of Panama, where the Queen’s ex-Secretary now rules as King. I put him there, on Albion’s behalf. And since then savage, bloody, unthinking customs have given way to civilised justice. I have always despised savages, my lord, as I despise all who are ignorant and put precedent before interpretation. Such habits give birth to hypocrisy.”
“Not knowingly, Captain Quire.”
“Of course not, sir. But enlightenment is better.”
“Much better, Captain.” Lord Ingleborough humoured his visitor. “God-worship is a great destroyer of Man’s dignity, for instance.”
“Quite so. Well, I’ll not list all my achievements, but they have spanned the world.”
“But you mentioned your art. A demonstration.”
“That is my art.”
“Espionage?”
“If you like. Part of it. Politics in general.”
“And you do have a moral purpose. Albeit a general one-of enlightenment.”
Quire listened keenly. He considered Lord Ingleborough’s statement. “Possibly I have. Aye. A very general one.”
