here. Did she say anything else?”
“No, the lord was waiting for her outside. She said she had a headache from his endless chatter and was going to nap before she changed for the queen’s feast. Oh, and she told me to take care of Urian, seeing as I stole him away.”
It was a message: She wanted me to know she’d be in the hall tonight. The “sweet cousin” she had been with was Courtenay. I had just missed him. A few minutes earlier and I might have had the chance to gauge this man whose relationship with Elizabeth was starting to cause me grave concern.
“What was the nobleman like?” I asked.
Peregrine blew air out the side of his mouth. “Rude, like most of his ilk. He didn’t tip me for taking his horse, though grooms survive on tips. And he looked at me as if I was going to steal something when Her Grace said she wanted a word with me about her dog.”
I felt a prickle of alarm. Courtenay sounded mistrustful, not an encouraging sign.
“You did well,” I said. “Now she knows we’re here and won’t be surprised if she sees me. But I want you to stay away from this Courtenay fellow. I don’t like the sound of him.”
Peregrine nodded. I went to the coffer, taking out my new vermilion doublet and the wrapped cloth protecting my shoulder chain. As I unfolded the cloth, exposing the thick gilded links, Peregrine whistled. “Nice! That must have cost a few angels.”
“Don’t get too excited. It’s fake. I brought you a new jerkin and sleeves, too.”
“But not of velvet. I wager I don’t have a chain to go with it, either.”
I laughed. “What a squire you’re turning out to be!” I clapped him on the back. “Let’s use wash water and soap. Tonight, we will feast with the court, my friend.”
I made sure not to watch as he hand washed himself, concentrating on my own necessities until I heard him make an annoyed sound. I turned to find him standing stiff in his new garb, his unruly hair oiled and tamed to damp ringlets that fell to his shoulders, the green wool of the jerkin bringing out the emerald hue in his eyes.
“You clean up nicely,” I remarked.
He scowled. “It itches. It feels like I have fleas.”
“Well, you were in the stables all morning.” I turned back to my small hand mirror, which I’d propped on the stool. As I adjusted the linked chain about my shoulders, I remembered my weapon. I was sheathing my poniard in my boot when Peregrine said suddenly, “Are we in danger, too?”
I paused.
“If you would just tell me what is happening, I might be able to help-”
I held up my hand. “You promised, remember? No questions.” My tone softened. “I just need to speak to Her Grace in private. It may be that I’ll need your help.”
His face brightened, as I knew it would. I turned to my bag and removed quill, ink, and paper. Ripping off a section of paper, I wrote quickly.
I didn’t dare write more, in case my note should fall into the wrong hands. I folded the ripped paper into a small square that fit in my palm and slipped it into my doublet before turning to Peregrine. “Do you want me to deliver it?” he asked eagerly.
“We’ll see,” I said. “First, let’s find out what this night has in store. Come. We don’t want to be late for our first big event at court.”
* * *
The cavernous great hall was large and surprisingly warm, boasting two enormous hearths fashioned of imported Caen stone, both of which glowed with scented fires. The vast hammer-beamed ceiling high above was barely visible, its painted vaulting clouded by a pall of smoke from the many gilded candelabras and torches set in cressets on the walls.
The black-and-white checkered floor was crowded, the air ringing with voices as courtiers sauntered about with goblets in hand, gathering to gossip and eye the dais, upon which sat a velvet-draped table and several upholstered chairs. I noted that many of the courtiers sported jeweled crucifixes and medallions of saints. Considering such idolatry had been abolished under our late king’s reign, the goldsmiths of London must be enjoying an exceptionally busy season. I also espied a knot of somber men in tall black hats and short cloaks standing apart-bearded and hawk-eyed, without a smile to be seen among the lot; I guessed these must be the Spaniards of the Hapsburg delegation.
“Stay close,” I told Peregrine, as we weaved past servitors carrying platters of goblets, making our way toward a series of trestle tables set in front of the dais. Already some early arrivals clamored for their seats; liveried stewards directed them to form a queue. I hoped for a place with a view of the entranceway, so I might spot Elizabeth when she arrived. My searching looks about the hall confirmed to me that she was not yet here.
As Peregrine and I waited in line, I had the sudden sensation that I was being watched. The feeling was so strong I actually felt the hair on my nape prickle. I swerved about, inspecting the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a sudden absence of color amid the swirl of peacock glamour-a swish of darkness, like the flare of an old cloak. A large figure nearby shifted, melting into the courtiers. Hard as I craned my vision, even rising up on my tiptoes to peer past the sea of bobbing heads, I couldn’t discern who that shadow was or where it went. Nevertheless, I was certain it had been there, close to me.
At my side, Peregrine said, “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” I tried to push against the crowd, but the figure was gone. Then heralds announced the queen, and everyone started shoving forward. Angry words thrown in my direction alerted me I was holding up the line. I quickly made my way to the table indicated by a harried steward who snatched away my invitation. My seat was not far from the dais itself, close enough to gauge the activity without appearing conspicuous.
Peregrine eyed the lone chair assigned to me. “Am I supposed to stand?”
“It’s what squires do. You’ll hand me my napkin and refill my cup.”
“Wonderful. And you can toss me bits of roast, like a dog.”
“You’ll eat as soon as I…” My voice faded as I caught sight of Simon Renard moving toward the dais, accompanying the queen. Mary had donned a heavy sienna-colored velvet gown with fur-trimmed sleeves, her hair parted under a hood. In her hands, she clutched a nosegay of silk violets. A sapphire crucifix swung from her narrow bodice as she strode past the bowing courtiers, accompanied by her female attendants. Jane Dormer guided her little dog, Blackie, who strained at his lead. Behind her was Sybilla Darrier, clad in striking crimson velvet, her peaked collar studded with garnets that caught the light.
The ladies took their seats at a nearby table. Several gentlemen of the Hapsburg delegation joined the queen on the dais, including Renard, who took the chair one remove from Mary. On Mary’s left-a place of honor-sat a gaunt woman in old-fashioned patterned damask and a triangular gable hood. She had a prepossessing nose and piercing narrow blue eyes. Next to her was a handsome young man in flamboyant black-and-white satin, his short French-styled cloak strapped to one shoulder with elaborate braiding.
“That’s him,” Peregrine said in my ear. “That’s the sweet cousin.”
I took in my first sight of Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devon. He must be popular with the ladies, I thought: a well-built fellow, broad of shoulder and chest, with a full head of tawny hair that matched his well-groomed mustache and forked goatee. His appearance took me aback; I wouldn’t have expected someone who’d spent so many years in the Tower to look quite so robust, though his appeal was marred by a petulant expression. As the long-nosed lady beside him lifted her goblet for wine, Courtenay said something of evident wit to her. She gave him a sour smile. They seemed to know each other, but then everyone at court did, especially at functions like these. Perfect strangers were not averse to feigning rapport if it might tender an advantage.
Pages bearing decanters circulated among us, filling our cups with ale. Renard suddenly leaned to the queen. As he murmured in her ear, Mary stared at the empty chair between them. Her face visibly darkened.
“What?” she said, in a displeased voice loud enough to carry into the hall. “Are we to endure her insufferable disobedience again?”
Taut silence fell. Renard exchanged a brief, conspiratorial look with the sour-faced lady as Mary swerved her attention to Courtenay. Her fist clenched, crushing the silk violets. “Did you not deliver our message to her as we instructed, my lord?”
Courtenay blanched. “Your Majesty, I assure you, I conveyed your request-”
Mary stabbed her finger at him. “It was not a request. Go to her apartments at once. Tell our sister the Lady
