She remembered, or was prepared to think that she did. She let him lead her past the twin guards, along the passage, through one set of rooms, until finally they reached her ordinary bedchamber. With a jingle of jewels, she fell upon the bed and immediately was snoring.
Quire had helped her to this state and was satisfied she would sleep for several hours. Employing a tenderness which had become a habit with him, he dragged off most of her trinkets and what clothes would come away easily, pulled a coverlet over her and left the room. A finger to his lips and servants were aware of the Queen’s condition. He went to the main door into the corridor and was about to open it when he heard voices murmuring on the other side. A phrase: “Are we to be ruled by a whore and a cutpurse?” He gave himself a crack to see through. “It must be destroyed. It is Albion’s shame. There is a way.”
The Thane of Hermiston and Lord Montfallcon were speaking softly as they walked together along the passage. Quire had not expected this combination. They were unlikely companions. He did not think there was much to fear from them, however. Doubtless their respective delusions brought them together. He closed the crack and when they were gone he was off along a familiar route to the East Wing, where he would later keep an appointment. He went early because it was always his habit to be on the scene much sooner than he was expected. By this means he had, in other days, kept himself alive.
He reached the gallery overlooking the garden where, that spring, Gloriana had played her role as May Queen. He walked swiftly. Moonlight passed through all the many windows so that it was almost as bright within the gallery as it was in the garden below. Casually, Quire looked out as he moved. Then he paused and found himself a shadow into which he could withdraw. He could hear peculiar sounds coming from the garden, a creaking and a rustling, a clattering, as if someone tried to chop branches from the trees. He let his eyes grow used to the darkness and began to notice that the growth which surrounded the entire garden, providing food and shelter for the deer, seemed to be swaying. He realised that someone was on the Tree Walk. He had used it himself, once or twice, and knew that it was firm. At last he heard sharp, almost regular sounds-
Quire watched for some time, conscious that now he might be keeping his visitor waiting, but he must see the outcome, even though he had guessed who the duelists were. After all, he had almost encouraged the fight.
Then there was a silence, a lack of movement. Quire saw a figure standing, leaning hard against the rope, then the walk tipped and he went down.
Quire ran for the steps which would take him into the garden.
When he reached the body, the victor was standing there. Sir Amadis was breathing deeply as he sheathed his sword. “I think I killed him,” he said, “before he fell. I hope so. Poor Gorius.”
“This is stupidity,” said Quire.
“You saw it? How many other witnesses?”
“Who knows?” Quire believed there was only himself. “You’ll be imprisoned for this. Exiled.”
“I wanted Alys. As did he.”
“She’ll have no part of you now.”
“I know.”
“You must return to your wife,” said Quire on impulse. He became thoughtful. “Aye-to Kent. The Perrotts will protect you.”
“What shall I tell them?”
“That you are a victim. That you quarrelled over their position-that Ransley called the Perrotts traitors and wanted them hanged. He tried to murder you. Something of the sort. They’ll receive you in Kent, as you know.”
“Aye. My wife wanted me with her. I could not. My loyalty. My lust.”
“If you’re still loyal to the Queen, then save her a scandal.” Quire was delighted. This would confirm the Perrotts in their hatred. It would ensure that their fleet sailed. “Go you now. You can be in Kent by morning. A horse is all you need.”
Sir Amadis looked doubtfully at Quire. “You are eager to be rid of me, Captain.”
“You know I’ve always sought your friendship. Now I seek to save you from retribution, that’s all.”
“Kent’s the answer, right enough.” Sir Amadis was already parting from Quire. “I’ll do my best to make them see sense and save Albion from war. If I can do that…”
“You will be more powerful than Quire,” said Quire under his breath as he waved.
He walked without haste back to the gallery, congratulating himself that he was free of two encumbrances and that his luck stayed with him.
He met Lord Shahryar in what had been a laundry. Once servants had laboured here for Hern. The sweat and the steam had gone up, the water down, running over the flagstones, going the gods knew where. The rounded ceilings were still caked with soap which had risen with the steam, and the whole place stank of lye. Quire leaned against a wooden tub and smiled at Lord Shahryar, who did not find this a fit meeting-place.
“Another few days, that’s all,” said Quire very quietly, “and the Perrotts sail.”
“Our fleet’s already on the move, but will harbour in Iberia. Until we need to come to Albion’s rescue.” Lord Shahryar’s tone was depressed. “Is it really happening, Quire?”
“Aye,” said Quire. “Really.” It seemed he shared the Saracen’s mood.
“We’ll restore the glory” Shahryar was eager. “It is in reality scarcely harmed at all. The people will respond well to handsome Hassan.”
“Aye. You’ll have an even better lie, within a year, than Montfallcon could conceive.”
Shahryar noticed Quire’s own bitterness. “You wouldn’t thwart us, would you?”
“Now? How could I? It is all too far gone.”
“What will you do?”
“Find another patron, I suppose.” He did not like the drift of the conversation.
Shahryar laughed. “So. You’ve come to love her. It’s the classic tale.”
“I’m fond of the poor creature, now that she is on the verge of defeat. I am always fond of my victims, sir.”
“No! It’s more than that. You hesitate.” Shahryar took a step or two nearer. “I wonder if you would betray us if you could. There are means. Sir Thomasin Ffynne is ready at Portsmouth with a great fleet, to forestall the Perrotts. Yet if it were turned on us…”
“Fear not, my lord. I’ve kept my word. I am renowned for it.”
“And renowned for hiding the truth by means of a well-chosen platitude.” Lord Shahryar shrugged. “Well, I must trust you. But I have often wondered why you went so readily from Montfallcon’s service and into mine.”
“That day? It was fated. I had lost my temper with Lord Montfallcon. I was piqued. If you had captured me on another day, this whole story would have been a different one. I’d have thwarted all your plans, in Montfallcon’s name. But, perhaps in haste I gave my word-and I kept it.”
“You have a regretful tone, Captain Quire.”
Quire had finished with him. Before Shahryar realised it he had begun his journey back to Gloriana’s room, for she would be waking soon.
But she was already awake when he arrived. She was pale and her mind was clogged. Sir Orlando Hawes stood by the bed. He nodded to Quire as Quire appeared.
“What’s this? Is the Queen ill?” Quire went to her. He was surprised when she waved him away, intent on the note she read and re-read.
“What is it?” Quire asked Hawes. “War declared?” He hated this ignorance. He lived for knowledge. “What’s in the note?”
Gloriana showed it to him. It was from Wallis.
“We found him. In one of those little rooms off the main seraglio,” said Sir Orlando. He was sad, but he was
