Gloriana

“Show me proof, Lord Montfallcon.”

“The proof will manifest itself soon enough.”

“Very well, my lord, then we shall wait to see it.”

Montfallcon’s pallor gave way to purple. “Oh, madam…” His breathing became huge. “You are listening to bad advice.”

“I listen to my own conscience, my lord. For this once.”

“It is Hern’s philosophy I hear!” He held his ground, by the door. “Familiar speeches to me, madam.”

He had angered her again. “You may go, my lord.”

His grey finger pointed at Quire. “This maggot, madam, will infect you with the Sophist’s plague and make you cruel and hated, turning all to darkness.”

“My lord! I am the Queen!”

Tom Ffynne was lurching to take Montfallcon’s arm. “Perion. What you say is almost treachery-and would have been judged so under Hern. Come.”

Montfallcon remained. “You are with them, now, Tom. You serve them. Already you’ve expressed your liking for Quire. Well, Lisuarte had a similar liking and he died. A taste for Quire is a taste for hemlock.”

“You’re weary, Perion. Let us go to your lodgings and continue our discussion there.”

Ffynne’s hand was shaken free. “I am alone now. Alone I protect Albion. And protect her I shall, against any threat, from any quarter. For too long has secret voluptuousness been tolerated at Court. Selfish lust weakens all. We shall have Hern back, mark my words.”

“That is nonsense, my lord.” The Queen was once more placatory.

“Then marry, madam. Marry and have done with it all! The temptations with which you beguile your private hours, they now become your whole world. Find a husband-of noble birth-and marry him. Thus shall war be averted thoroughly. Marry strength, to take the burden of your private grief, to share the weight of the Realm’s responsibilities. Don’t demean yourself with these wicked, little, common, clownish knaves who’ll only do you harm, who understand nothing of Chivalry!”

“Arabia would have me marry the Grand Caliph. You’d like him for a master, eh, my lord? And he’ll help me share my private grief, eh, my lord?”

“A few more months and the nobles and the people shall welcome the Arabian fleet as our saviour. Cannot you see into what dangers we slip if you do not make your Progress, letting suitors court you as you go? I had the plans all arranged, the most likely bachelors listed-and if you were to favour a Perrott, so much the better. If you do not make your Progress, and possibly make peace with the Perrotts by visiting them or a nearby house, they’ll be arming for private war again.”

“All these plans, my lord, and no consultation!” She shrugged. “Be off with you, sir, and make further plans, since that is your will. But do not, I beg thee, ask for my affirmation and involvement.”

Montfallcon scarcely heard her as he stood breathing deeply and glowering at the man who had robbed him of his power. Quire moved to the Queen’s side, as a guard might, out of concern.

Montfallcon whispered: “He is capable of any crime. He is more terrible than Hern, for he is not mad or vain, as Hern was.”

“Sir Thomasin-please escort the Lord Chancellor back to his apartments and make him to rest. Return, my lord, when you are in more civil humour. Doctor Dee, if you can help, please do so, though I fear…”

Montfallcon looked from Dee to Ffynne as they stood on either side of him. “Am I arrested?”

“Of course not, Perion,” said Ffynne, “but you are distressed. The Queen’s concern is for your health. Doctor Dee could attend you, if you so wished, giving you some drug to help this mood pass.”

“What? Am I to be poisoned by the magus?”

With these predictable words, he was led away.

Gloriana embraced her Quire. “Oh, my love, that you should suffer so much insult!”

Quire was brave. “I do not blame him, madam.” He stroked her face as she stretched beside him on the couch. “He is, as you say, distracted by his friend’s death.”

“Tell me that I shall not have to make the Progress. It would mean parting from you for so long. And I do not think it will do any good to our cause.”

“You must not exhaust yourself, madam, by a journey of that length. Albion needs you at the Court. Who knows what evil would develop here? Already so much, as I understand it, is unexplained. It could be that the Countess of Scaith is still alive….”

“Oh, Quire my dear, if it were only so. What two good friends I should have then.” And she hugged him tightly, burying her head on his shoulder as he seemed to reel, with frowning, puzzled eyes, beneath the force of her love.

THE TWENTY-SEVENTH CHAPTER

In Which Old Acquaintances Are Resumed and Old Issues Are Debated

Lord Shahryar of Baghdad drew off his pointed helm, causing its silver curtain to clash as he placed it I J beside his curved sword on the table in the tavern’s private room. It was almost dawn and he had been waiting for Quire for three hours; it would be their third meeting since their original bargain had been struck. Near the shuttered window the snag-toothed Tinkler, who now sported threadbare brocade and a crumpled ruff, drained the last of the bottle he had brought for them both but which the Saracen had disdained. “He’ll be here soon, my lord.”

“You know? It was I sent you the message of where to be.”

“I know my old master, the Captain.”

“It’s your new master who concerns me.” Lord Shahryar seemed nervous. “What shall you report, eh?”

“Lord Montfallcon gave me to understand that I carried on Captain Quire’s work. And so I served him. Now that Captain Quire is back, well, I serve the same master as he serves.” Tinkler, however, was uncomfortable. “I shan’t betray you, sir-it would mean betraying the Captain.” He scratched at his itching head.

In came Quire, hastily, a little short of breath. “There are disadvantages in being so close to the monarch.” He slammed the door shut, pushing back his cloak. As well as his usual black he now wore a wide red sash, knotted on the right. It was as if the lower part of his body was stained with blood, so unlikely was the sight. He placed his sombrero near the Saracen’s helm. “You prepare for war already, my lord?”

“This is court dress. I have been waiting a week in the Presence Chamber for audience with the Queen. Together with a large deputation from the Caliph, who is growing doubtful, Quire, about the success of our scheme.”

“He should not be. Everything progresses.” A wink at Tinkler. “You’re looking quite a gallant, Tink. Montfallcon’s gold?”

“He paid me your wages in full.”

“He’s generous. You should continue to serve him.”

“Not now you’re returned, Captain.” Tinkler became relaxed.

Quire seated himself opposite Lord Shahryar and put folded arms upon the table. “Forgive me if I seem weary. My duties exhaust me.”

Tinkler laughed coarsely. Lord Shahryar feigned suitable disgust and said: “I need more specific news. Matters seemed to move well, but now I suspect your plans stick. The death of the girl created all that you told me would be created. On Accession Day your plan could not have been better realized. But now there is silence from you and, save for Ingleborough’s death, which was to be expected and which achieved nothing (the page, by the way, is embarked for Arabia, a present for the Caliph), it is almost as if you had given up on us.”

“I have a handful of Privy Councillors with me. Upstanding gentlemen become besotted fops, who support every decision I encourage the Queen to make.” Quire lifted his lip. “Montfallcon is all but exiled, he is so disgraced, and the Queen will no longer listen to him, for she is convinced he is mad with jealousy. The Court divides into two main camps-those who share Montfallcon’s opinions and those who share the Queen’s-and further divisions are to be expected. The Progress is halted and so the Realm will not be reassured. The Perrotts continue with their fleet