affliction. But it was that very affliction which represented my love of Albion. I shall risk the pain, in order to serve the Realm again.”
“This is weighty….”
“I shall decide, in the course of the coming week, on what I must do.”
He felt thwarted, even though he saw success.
He gave himself up to her awesome kindness.
Next morning there came the news of Ransley and word that Sir Vivien was dead of his fall. The Queen, in her puzzling and novel mood, took both deaths with a kind of tolerant dismay and had Tom Ffynne sent for. She intended to discuss the problem of Cornfield’s disappearance from the palace, though it was by now well-known he had ridden southeast on the Dover road and almost certainly went to his kinsmen.
Quire was not ignored by Gloriana, but he was not consulted any longer by her. She continued to show towards him the affectionate detachment of a mother for a charming but demanding child. And she allowed him to go with her when she robed herself in her encrusted gown, her crown, and took her orb and sceptre, to return to the Audience Chamber she had all but abandoned. As she moved through the Presence Chambers she greeted astonished petitioners who had long since given up any real belief they might be granted an interview. She was distant; she was friendly. Her humanity was all but gone and she was little else but habit, a monarch. Quire followed, nodding and bowing to those he knew, showing a confidence which, for once, was not much with him, attempting to give the impression that he had at last persuaded the Queen to do her duty.
She was enthroned and Quire took the chair at the foot of the dais; the Countess of Scaith’s chair. Lord Montfallcon was summoned but did not immediately appear.
Lord Shahryar was the first foreign ambassador to be received. He looked hard at Quire, not daring to ask, even with his eyes. He was tall and self-contained, in his silks, and his steel, and his gold. “Gracious Majesty. My master Hassan, Grand Caliph of Arabia, sends his greetings and asks me to express his deepest affection for your self. An affection, he asks me to tell you, that goes deeper than mere admiration for the world’s most beautiful, most loved, most honourable sovereign, ruler of the world’s mightiest and noblest Empire. He awaits the moment when you will send him a sign that you share this affection, so that he might fly to your side, to help you in this troubled hour of history.”
“Troubled hour, my lord?” She seemed amused. “What troubled hour is that?”
“Well, Your Majesty, there are rumours. Certain of your subjects-unruly and unwise-disobey your wishes….”
“A minor domestic matter, my lord.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” He said no more. He did not look at Quire at all. Quire knew, however, that Shahryar might believe himself betrayed and, in turn (for he had nothing to lose), might betray Quire.
The doors of the Audience Chamber groaned open on unoiled hinges. Montfallcon entered. He wore his black robes of office, his gold chain. His grey face was drawn and there were blotches of red, like a drunkard’s blush, on his cheekbones, showing that he had slept hardly at all for many nights. His eyes shifted in his head as he noted the Queen, then Quire, then Shahryar. He had one hand wrapped in the heavy folds of his cloak as if he clutched his own costume to steady himself, and when he spoke, his voice was rapid, ragged. “Your Majesty sent for me?”
“We hope we do not inconvenience you, dear Lord Montfallcon.”
His glance was suspicious. “What are we doing here?”
“We are giving audience, my lord. We are debating important matters of State.”
Montfallcon pointed. “Then why is he here? That spy. Sir Orlando told me of the note.”
“The note said nothing.” The Queen’s tone continued to be light. “There was no evidence against Captain Quire.”
“There is evidence everywhere,” said Montfallcon. “In your own actions.” He looked hard at Lord Shahryar, who pretended embarrassment. He fell silent.
Lord Shahryar was eager to remain but could not, by custom, do so. He bowed and withdrew, leaving the three of them in the vastness of the room filled with warm, autumn light, making the tapestries, panels and wall hangings seem richer than ever.
“We sought your advice, my lord,” said the Queen softly.
“I have given it. I have told you what to do. Abandon Quire. Abandon your secrets. Abandon wanton epicureanism!”
“My charges? My children?”
“Abandon all of that.”
“And will you abandon your own secrets, my lord?” she asked.
“What?” A glare at Quire. Quire was able to shake his head to let Montfallcon know that he had said nothing.
“We have heard you have been into the walls again. We forbade you, or any other, the walls. We ordered the entrances closed up.”
“There are many entrances, as I am discovering. Possibly hundreds.”
“Is that so, Captain Quire?” she asked.
“I do not know, madam,” he answered innocently.
She laughed. “Oh, come now, Captain. You are a villain from the walls. Admit it. All the evidence shows it now. I do not accuse you. Perhaps with Lord Montfallcon’s help you could rid us of the creatures who so distress us and who are almost certainly causing this plague of deaths. It is the most obvious explanation. And therefore I would suggest to you that the Realm be apprised of our decision. We must tell everyone that we have discovered murderers and criminals hiding at the very roots of the State-that all our recent troubles were caused by them; that they murdered Lady Mary and others, seduced some of our Councillors (now dead or fled), tried to poison the Queen herself. And we shall assure everyone that, with this discovery, we shall send expeditions into the walls to destroy every creature found there.”
Quire smiled. She had found perhaps the only means of uniting the nobles swiftly in a common aim. It was a clever notion and he admired her for it, even though it threatened his own plans.
“The walls?” Montfallcon rubbed at his eyelids, mumbling to himself. “No-there is something to be done-there can be no one sent to the walls. Not yet.”
“What do you say, my lord? I do not hear you.”
Quire had heard and was on his feet. “It is a splendid plan. Shall we join forces then, Lord Montfallcon?”
Montfallcon was contemptuous. “The wall rabble is not the cause of our dissolution. Base appetites are the cause. Bad blood. There is a canker here and it must be burned away. All evil must be swept from the palace. All!”
Quire pursed his lips. “We could begin with the walls, however, my lord.” He pretended to humour Montfallcon. “First the corruption within, then the corruption without, eh?”
Montfallcon would not listen to him. “They must die,” he told the Queen. He trembled as he moved further into the Throne Room. “There can be no ambiguity. Not now. Show Albion that you are pure, by destroying all that is impure within the palace!”
“But, good Lord Montfallcon,” she said, “that is what we suggest.”
“Then let me send men to do it.”
“It is our will.” She frowned, looking to Quire for aid, but he could not help. He shrugged.
“Good.” Montfallcon turned to leave.
“My lord,” she said, “there are other matters. The Perrotts. Know you when they plan to sail for Arabia?”
“Three days.” He was gone.
“Ah.” She turned to Quire. “Word must be sent to Tom Ffynne at Portsmouth with the fleet. But what shall he do? Attack the Perrotts or join them? If he joins them we’ll be at war with half the world-or more than half. If he attacks, we’ll have civil war. And Arabia’s movements are strange. There’s news of a great fleet, but no news of what it intends. Does Lord Shahryar threaten us-war or marriage?”
“Possibly,” agreed Quire. “If we were to avoid war…”
“Oho!” She looked down at him from her throne. “Give myself to Hassan? Would you agree to that, Quire?”
