Denoriel groaned aloud and without any pretense. "Your Grace, that was one small device to make a smoke. I am not a magician and the man from whom I learned the tricks is—"
"No matter. No matter. Then you made smoke. And I remember you made sparkles leap from the staff you carried. We need much the same—sparkles to fly from the torches of the wild men and flame to belch from the throat of a dragon. Come to me when you are returned to London so I can show you the boat that will carry the spectacle. You will, of course, let me know what help you will need."
Over the next two days as the party returned to London, Denoriel tried in vain to escape his fate. It was Lord Henry who saved his groats by introducing him to the producers of masques, who in turn led him to the artificers who created the spectacles for the masques. Fire-breathing dragons were all in a day's (or at least two weeks') work to them.
Since Denoriel could enhance the pitiful foot-long tongue of fire to several yards of brilliant pyrotechnic without even being near enough for the metal inside the mechanism to cause him discomfort, the show was a resounding success. His wild men waved their sparkling torches and their bellowing could be heard not only on the barges that followed his light wherry, but on both banks of the river. And the barges that followed, all fifty belonging to the great London guilds, were bright and glittering with bunting, gold foil, and silver bells.
They had four days of it, processions and pageants and people in the street. If there was no wild enthusiasm for Anne, there was no protest either. Free shows and free food were welcome on any account. It was, all in all, a much grander coronation than that of Catherine, and even more impressive than the celebration held for the visit of Charles V. To any observers, except perhaps the Imperial ambassador, it was clear that the king had had his way; Queen Anne had been crowned with the assent of the people.
Free of duty, after a few days' rest, FitzRoy and Lord Henry returned to France, but this time they knew they could not remain long. The queen was already big-bellied with the child she carried and it was said she would be delivered by the end of September. The ten weeks that the young men had were spent in a round of visits of farewell and hearty invitations to the friends they had made to come and visit them in England—FitzRoy at least had his own establishment in which to make them welcome.
FitzRoy also had a private reason for suspecting he would not soon return to France. He had become reacquainted with Lord Henry's younger sister Mary in Calais, where she had been one of Anne's ladies. And he had spent more time with her in London as they waited endlessly to rehearse their roles in the coronation events.
FitzRoy had found being with Mary very pleasant; he liked her soft voice and gentle manner and their ties as children made for easy conversation. She was pretty, too. Thus, when Norfolk had approached FitzRoy on whether he would be willing to have Mary to wife, he had asked for some days to think, had consulted Denno, and had agreed.
He understood that the marriage was primarily designed to declare publicly that he was no longer a possible choice for the throne. While there remained the possibility that his father would name him heir, marriages to French and Spanish princesses had been considered. To bind him to an English nobleman's daughter implied that he was no longer a bargaining chip.
A secondary purpose, which Denoriel pointed out, was to extend Norfolk's influence over him. The third duke of Norfolk was not particularly astute in his relations with people, but he had realized, Denoriel said, that he could no longer simply order FitzRoy to do anything. Harry had not only the king's ear but Lady Anne's as well. If Norfolk needed to direct Harry's behavior, it was easier to do so through a wife. FitzRoy had almost balked at that, but Denoriel laughed and said it was no bad thing, since messages could be transmitted both ways.
In general FitzRoy was not particularly enamored of the idea of being married—he was only fourteen years old and had been relishing his freedom—but he understood the political reasons. In addition he was as eager as his father, if not more eager, to see himself removed from the royal line.
As to the particular bride chosen for him, he was well enough pleased. He had seen most of the ladies of suitable birth, and Mary was the best of them.
Of course, no mortal woman could compare with the beauty of the elven ladies he had met Underhill. In truth, it was the elven ladies for whom he yearned, for whom, in dreams, his loins burned, of whom he thought when he needed to rouse his body. But he knew any hope of an elven lover was impossible. His life and his duty were here in the mortal world, and part of that duty was marriage to Mary.
It was not so terrible; actually it would be pleasant to have an agreeable constant companion in Baynard's castle to read with and talk with and play at cards with. FitzRoy said his good-byes in France and headed back to England cheerfully enough.
Lord Denno was waiting for him at Baynard's Castle and invited himself to dinner. They were alone, except for Sir Edward, who excused himself early to go out and notify some friends of his arrival.
"There is a plague among your wine casks," Denoriel said. "I will show you some surprising ways to amend it if you will come down into the cellars with me."
"With all my heart," FitzRoy replied, his eyes brightening. "Nothing is more of interest to me than learning more about my cellars."
In an arch behind one of the great tuns, the bricks were blurred by age and shadow and were quite solid—unless a Sidhe lord held one's hand. Then the shadow deepened to featureless black and if one's courage did not fail, one could step through. To Denoriel's eyes the black was not featureless. In it appeared a bright blue diamond with a round picture at each point. One was the silver trees and star mosaic of Elfhame Avalon Gate. That he chose.
Lady Aeron and Miralys were waiting. FitzRoy first bowed profoundly to the elvensteed and then threw his arms around her neck and kissed her muzzle. Denoriel suspected that Lady Aeron felt much the same affection for her rider; there was no need for her to have come. Miralys could have carried both of them the short distance to the great Mirror of the FarSeers.
Four ladies waited. FitzRoy slid down from Lady Aeron and bowed to each in turn. The eldest spoke to him.
"This is no new thing we are showing you, but a Vision that came to our youngest, the Lady Aleneil, more than eight of your years ago."
The lens rose and the first image that appeared was the face of the scowling red-haired babe. FitzRoy breathed "Henry" when he saw who held the child, but a sharp gesture silenced him and in the lens the different futures of the realm of Logres unfolded.
A breeze came up, seeming to blow away the pictures. It fluttered FitzRoy's hair so that the blue six-pointed star glittered and flashed on his forehead. Slowly the lens sank down again. Aleneil stepped forward.
She said to FitzRoy, "You understood?"
"That the red-haired child is linked to a golden future, yes. I understood that. And I understood, too, that without that child, misery and horror will overtake my country. What I do not understand is what this has to do with me."
Aleneil sighed. "Neither do we—except when I Looked at England without you in the future, it was all smoke and screaming and burning, and Elfhame Logres itself was empty, Llachar Lle a tumbled ruin."
"No!" FitzRoy exclaimed.
Denoriel put a hand on his shoulder. "That was what won you a fairy guardian. You soon became precious to me for yourself, Harry, but I was sent to you because we knew you could not be risked. For the sake of England and Logres, both in the mortal world and Underhill you had to grow to be a man."
"So that was why those men tried to kill me and over the years . . ." He looked from Denoriel to Aleneil. "I will do what I can, whatever I can. Indeed, my life would be a very small price to pay to save the beauty of Elfhame Logres and Llachar Lle. Just tell me what I must do."
"We do not know," Aleneil admitted. "That is the danger in FarSeeing. It often tells you just enough to drive you to act but does not show the right action. I hope that when you see the red-haired ch
ild, you will know."
"The babe that will be born to Queen Anne?"
Slowly Aleneil shook her head. "There has been no Vision but—but my heart says yes."
FitzRoy's heart said yes too, and he settled down to wait for Anne to deliver her child. Not, of course, that he was not occupied with other matters. Although there was no possibility of going north to take up his duties there, he began to take an interest in them and to read the reports of the councilors. Norfolk invited him to discuss his forthcoming wedding, telling him with a sour expression that final arrangements would be made only if the babe lived through the delivery and was healthy. If it died, FitzRoy would be restored to his old ambiguous position as possible heir.
Although FitzRoy was no more eager for being a married man than in the past, he infinitely preferred that state to possible heir. His attention fixed even more firmly on Anne and her offspring. Prodded by Denoriel, he sent messages and presents to Mary, but the truth was that he was he hardly thought of her. He was far more interested in the birth of Anne's child than in his own marriage.
Anne retired "to her chamber" as was the custom for women about to deliver at the end of August. Usually about six weeks were allowed before delivery, but Anne surprised everyone by giving birth—with surprising ease—to a baby girl on September seventh.
It was not only the king and court who were surprised by Anne's early delivery. Vidal Dhu had also been caught unprepared. He and Aurilia had had a difference of opinion about when to snatch the child. Vidal insisted on organizing a force to abduct the new-born baby during the excitement and confusion of the delivery. He insisted that Sidhe could be disguised as maids and midwives. These attendants often carried bundles of sheets, large covered bowls, and a variety of other cloths, boxes, and garments among which a changeling could be concealed and a mortal child carried away.
No long elaborate preparation would be necessary for this changeling. Newborns all looked pretty much alike, wrinkled and red with eyes swollen shut and near bald-headed. And it would not matter how long the changeling lived; many of the king's children had been dead within hours of their birth.
Aurilia continued to oppose the idea, pointing out that "at the time of delivery" was very uncertain. Exactly when the changeling had to be created was totally unknown; were they to make one every week until the lady went into labor? And how would they know what sex? That, the midwives and attendants would know for certain even as the child emerged from the womb.
Nor was replacing some of the attendants so easy as Prince Vidal implied. Yes, if the labor was very long, they would have time to detain and replace some of those assisting in the birth, but what if it were not?
So when Pasgen arrived with the news that Queen Anne was in labor before even the first changeling had been prepared, Vidal Dhu shrugged. Perhaps another chance to steal the child would present itself or they would simply wait until the queen was disgraced and the child discarded.
In fact the labor was not long. Even had the changeling been ready there would scarcely have been enough time to make the substitution of attendants. And the changeling would have been the wrong sex. Because of the strong influence the FarSeers had predicted the child would have, it was assumed it would be male . . . and it was not.
King Henry had excitedly summoned the greatest nobles who were available as soon as he heard that Anne was truly in labor. Among those able to answer the summons was FitzRoy. He as well as the king and the rest of the court were disappointed that Anne's child was female. All the soothsayers had predicted a boy.
However, as the powerful shrieks of a very strong, healthy, and enraged baby spilled out into the outer chamber where the most important members of the court waited to see the child, a quick recovery was made. The king was so relieved that his precious Anne had been spared and that the babe was alive and, very obviously, strong, that the sex became less important.
Anne had conceived quickly and would doubtless do so again; there was time enough. The next child would be a boy. So, when the chief nurse emerged with the wrapped child in her arms, Henry received her with good grace and held her up for all to see.
Forward in the crowd as befitted his status as first duke in the kingdom, FitzRoy looked up. Both mouth and eyes opened wide and he stared, utterly transfixed. He was seeing in life exactly the image from the great lens Underhill. A full head of brilliant red hair—far more hair than was usual for a newborn—crowned a little red face wearing a ferocious scowl. FitzRoy closed his mouth and swallowed hard. Lady Aleneil was absolutely right. He knew what he had to do.
CHAPTER 30
FitzRoy needed to exert all his willpower to prevent himself from rushing out of the chamber. He was swept by the most violent need to go home at once to get the iron cross that had lain for years now among his most precious jewels. He needed to bring that cross and hang it around the neck of this most precious child. He could almost feel the powers of darkness gathering around her.
Naturally he did not dare rush away. He could imagine the ugly interpretation that would be put upon such behavior. The king would be appalled, and the entire court would say that he was angry because a girl—a legitimate girl—would replace him in the royal line. However, he had not spent a year in the French court where the English were regarded very suspiciously without learning how to control his expression. He stood still, smiling at the baby—actually, that was very easy—as long as the king displayed her.
That scowl. With a leaping heart FitzRoy realized it was not bad temper—although the child had been furious enough at her undignified expulsion from her mother's womb. Clearly she had a strong will of her own, but that scowl marked a characteristic far more important than that. This red-haired babe was already trying to see, trying to understand what was happening.
Then the king handed her back to her nurse, but still FitzRoy could not leave. He had to congratulate his father and say all the right things, that he was sorry the child had not been male as prophesied but that she was clearly a strong and healthy babe. A boy would follow. Henry nodded and smiled, clasped his son around the shoulders, smiled even more broadly when FitzRoy expressed his hopes for Anne's and the child's continued well-being. And still he could not leave. He had to show his smiling face, his true gladness about the child to all those assembled.
Dawn was breaking by the time FitzRoy left Greenwich. He had an apartment in the palace and could have stayed, but the iron cross was in Baynard's Castle. He had only one guard with him—the close watch that had been kept on him for so long was no longer necessary—but he had kept the four men in his service. They were by now utterly devoted and much more useful than silly pages. Now he told Gerrit to see if he could hire a boat to take them back to London.
"Never mind." Denoriel's voice came out of the shadows. "I've a boat at the water stairs. Tell me!"
"It is she!"
"She? She?"
"The red-haired babe. She. Yes. Oh, Denno, I could sense the greatness in her."
The Sidhe was silent as they made their way to the water stair and then down to where the boat waited. FitzRoy was too excited to notice that the boatmen were very odd-looking, and Denno led him to the stern of the small vessel and bade him sit.
"You are sure?" he asked FitzRoy intently. "You are sure this is the red-haired babe? Is there some way you can bring me to look at her?"
"Not at once, no. But sure? Of course I am sure. Why do you think I did not even stop to piss after waiting all those hours? I must get back to Baynard's Castle to get the iron cross for her. Do you not think whoever tried to seize me will try to seize her?"
Denoriel blinked at him. "Yes, of course, but . . . but what am I to do? You were a little boy and I could find reasons to be near you. How am I to protect a little girl?"
FitzRoy turned toward him, his face alight. "Do you remember that Lady Aleneil said I would know what part I had to play in the saving of Logres? She was right. It is true. I knew the moment I saw the child. My part is to do fo
r her what you did for me. She is my sister. I am her older brother. She is an enchanting child. What more natural than that I should be enamored of her and wish to watch by her and, when she is a little older, play with her?"
A cold wash of fear passed over Denoriel. It was mad for a fourteen-year-old mortal boy to try to stand between Vidal Dhu and a child whom the dark Sidhe was determined to take. Danger . . . death lay that way. He leaned forward and took FitzRoy's hand.
"Harry, have a care to yourself, too. I . . . I feel you are right and that you, the only one who knows of the kind of enemies who threaten the child, the only one with status enough in the court to come close to her, must watch over her. But do not be so proud that you refuse me a part in your duties. There are helpers I can obtain for you and, if necessary, spells."
FitzRoy gripped Denoriel's hand. "Thank God for that, Denno. I know I will need all the help I can get."
"Indeed you will," Denoriel sighed, "and this I suspect will be no short task. She is a female. That means if Queen Anne bears a boy, he will come first in the succession. Even if she does not, there will be many who insist that the elder princess, Mary, should come first to the throne . . . and with Mary come the fires of Inquisition." He shuddered.
FitzRoy hardly heard him. The gentle rocking of the boat as they moved upriver was reminding him that he had no sleep at all the previous night and his eyes were beginning to close. He sighed and his head sagged back against the cushions of the seat in the stern. He still held Denno's hand, trying to think of a way to present the iron cross to those who cared for the baby. He knew that any gift he offered would be accepted, but the chances were that the iron cross would be relegated to the bottom of some chest and immediately forgotten. It was only iron, plain cold iron.
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