The Grande Salle had been decked out like an enchanted castle from a chivalric tale. Two storeys above us, the vast carved ceiling was hung with a canopy of dark cloth embroidered with the constellations and figures of the zodiac in gold and silver thread, with paper models of the Sun, Moon and planets suspended at varying heights; if their arrangement lacked cosmological accuracy, it compensated with colour and exuberance. At one end of the hall a wide wooden stage had been erected, surmounted by a painted backcloth depicting a pastoral landscape and bordered by real trees in great earthenware pots at either side. Here five singers dressed as shepherds and a group of musicians were working valiantly through a series of chansons by Claude le Jeune, though their efforts were largely drowned out by the chatter of the guests. Along the side walls, tiers of seating faced one another, the wide space of tiled floor between them strewn with dried petals. Banks of candles glittered at intervals along the walls, pitching wavering shadows up the tapestries and embroidered cloths that hung the length of the hall; more candles flickered in the chandeliers that had been lowered from the ceiling so that they would not singe the cloth of the heavens.
Opposite the stage, at the other end of the room, was a raised dais spread with crimson velvet and shaded by a canopy of the same, three gilded thrones placed in the centre with less ornate chairs to either side. Garlands of evergreen branches and dried fruits decorated every window embrasure; the air was fragrant with the scent of pine resin, cloves and orange, and something else, heavy and spicy, like the smell of burning incense. In one corner a fountain carved with nymphs spouted wine into fluted glass bowls. Braziers of scented wood had been lit in corners to warm the vast space, whose stone walls and high mullioned windows would otherwise have lent it the chill of a cathedral this December night.
The effect was magnificent. But it was the people milling around between the banks of seats who compelled the eye. Three hundred already, at a guess, and more still pouring through the main door, in every conceivable disguise. Cardinals and Venetian senators jostled with Greeks and Trojans, knights, Harlequins and Saracens for the attention of milkmaids and Amazons, fairy queens, Turkish concubines or damsels from ancient tales, who swirled and billowed in satins and velvets of sapphire, plum and emerald; candlelight glinted on silks woven with gold and silver thread, capes of glossy fur and bodices shimmering with seed pearls. Headdresses of ostrich and peacock feathers bowed and swayed as their owners curtseyed or bent their heads to whisper behind their fans of ivory and tortoiseshell at the appearance of some newcomer. Earrings, pendants and jewelled belts flashed like knives. And every face hidden behind a mask: painted, trimmed with lace or elaborate embroidery, studded with precious stones or hung with strings of glass beads, some topped with crests of feathers or draped with veils, all lending the allure of anonymity, the promise of throwing off inhibition for the space of a few hours. The air crackled with anticipation.
I felt a presence beside me and looked down; a dwarf had appeared noiselessly at my side, holding out a tray of glasses filled with some amber liquid. How long had he been there? I could read nothing in the dark eyes that stared out of the slits in the black mask he wore, but instinctively I took a step back. Then, thinking I should not draw attention to myself by acting with undue suspicion, I inclined my head and took one of his drinks, though not the one nearest me. He nodded and slipped away, unnervingly silent for such an ungainly man, and I sniffed my glass; it smelled like a fermented fruit punch, though powerfully strong. As I raised it to my lips, I glanced up and noticed a tall woman with a tiara of white feathers hovering at the back of the crowd on the other side of the hall; her face was almost completely obscured by a mask of ivory silk painted with silver spider webs, but it seemed she was watching me. There was something familiar about her bearing. I moved along the wall for a better view, but people drifted across in front of me and when a space cleared between them, she had vanished.
I sipped the punch and felt it burn my throat and roar through my veins. It would not surprise me if something had been added to it, some secret ingredient to hasten intoxication. Feeling suddenly reckless, I took another, longer draught and rolled my shoulders back as the tension began to melt away in the heat of the drink; excitement flickered in the pit of my stomach and deeper in my groin at the idea of moving through this company unrecognised. Emboldened, I peeled myself away from the wall and crossed the floor between the banks of seats, half-looking for the mysterious woman in white. From this side of the room a door behind a thick curtain led out to a torchlit terrace overlooking Catherine’s famous gardens. Though
