She felt betrayed—by the innocent Una, by the knowing Montfallcon, by council, companions and friends—for she had no friends now, only subjects, dependents, her servants, her secrets. Such feelings drove her to great displays of wit. She was no longer herself. She played Gloriana’s part at full stretch, and few guessed she might soon snap, and of the few who guessed, fewer cared. She was like a splendid flagship, all sails unfurled to catch the wind, all colours flying, brass and woodwork, gilding and paint flashing in the sunlight, cheered on by everyone who watched her glide across the water, and none to know that, below the waterline, she had no rudder and no anchor.
The first tourney commenced, in the special yard erected upon the large artificial island in the middle of the ornamental lake, so that the whole mass of people might have a fair view of the proceedings.
Sir Timon of the Bridge of Graveny a young knight in blue and white, jousted against the more experienced Sir Peregrine of Kilcolman Castle, in red, gold and black, and Sir Timon was soon unhorsed, whereupon Sir Peregrine dismounted, took two pikes and, helping his antagonist to his feet, handed him one so that they might continue their fight until one fell or five pikes broke. In their heavy, fanciful tilting armour, in closed helms and full plate, the knights moved slowly and deliberately about the field, and, like dancers in an ancient mime, struck at one another with stylised gracefulness. Above them, surrounding them, the crowd was quiet, sweating in the August heat and conscious of the discomfort of the jousters, who roasted slowly as they fought.
Lord Oubacha Khan caught Queen Gloriana’s eye as she turned from the scene. He smiled and bowed and she cried out: “Good my lord, come and sit with me. It has been a while since we talked.”
The tall Tatar, in his golden surcoat and silver mail, the formal costume of a noble of his own land, approached and kissed the Queen’s hand. “I was concerned,” he said in a low voice, “of the well-being of the Countess of Scaith.”
Gloriana drew him down upon the couch. “As are we all, my lord.” She spoke lightly.
“I admired the lady very much.”
Gloriana did not drop her guard, but she was sure she read sincerity in the Oriental’s dark eyes. “As did I, Lord Oubacha Khan.”
“There is talk that she is dead.”
“And talk that she is fled. And talk, indeed, my lord, that she has gone to live with your own master, in Tatary, at your Muscovian capital.”
Oubacha Khan smiled very slightly. “Would that she had, Your Majesty.”
“You do not seem to think she was a murderess.”
“I do not care. If she is alive, I would find her.”
Gloriana was surprised by his intensity, but she remained a formal Queen. “That is Lord Rhoone’s responsibility, and Lord Montfallcon’s.”
Oubacha Khan murmured a secret. “My own people also search.”
“In Albion?”
“Everywhere, Your Majesty.”
“Then you must be sure to tell Lord Rhoone of anything you hear, my lord.”
“I shall, of course, Your Majesty. But strangely we have heard nothing. There is no evidence she left the palace at all.”
“Ah, indeed?” So painful was the subject that Queen Gloriana turned away, pretending boredom, so that she should hide her true feelings, her interest.
“We continue to search.”
“We have heard, my lord, that Tatar merchants do good trade,” began Gloriana in a voice slightly higher than was natural, “with the peoples of our East Indian provinces, the mountain states of Pathania and Afghania especially. Do your merchants grow rich?”
He, too, became a public man. He said: “Merchants grow rich or they perish, Your Majesty. Some grow rich, doubtless.”
“Trade between nations brings knowledge and knowledge brings wisdom, my lord. Do your merchants become wise, also?” She performed the function Montfallcon expected of her, so that she need not think of Una.
“The Tatar nation is famous for its wisdom, Your Majesty.”
“Wisdom teaches that trade builds peace and prosperity, while war brings only poverty and further strife.” She pursued this conscientious reasoning, yet seemed to the Khan to be half entranced as her attention went to the window.
“There is a kind of wisdom, Your Majesty,” he continued, virtually as automatic as she, “that is merely caution disguised by sophistry. There is another kind, unadorned, that tells us that too much emphasis on the merchant’s needs creates a nation both morally and physically weak, a prey to stronger nations.”
“So would many of our Stoics agree, in this land,” she said. “But the world should support all manner of philosophies, I think, and it should be the duty of the righteous to protect the weak while encouraging the strong.” She hardly knew what she said, for the words were almost rote, diplomatic habit; yet Oubacha Khan, though he responded in similar terms, found them significant.
“For there is considerable strength in apparent weakness,” she continued, casting another glance towards the Tilt, where two new knights now fought. “Of course, the Tatar people are famous for their subtlety, and must know that.”
Oubacha Khan said: “That belief can become dangerous to the one who holds it. Strength can melt away without his realising.”
“Unless he is reminded always of the necessity for maintaining his strength, my lord.” She smiled, rising to watch as the knights levelled their lances and, mantling streaming, went upon one another at full gallop. There came a crash, a cheer, as both knights broke their spears but retained their seats, returning to their positions for fresh weapons. “If I, for instance, should grow weak, you, as a friend, would be ready to remind me, I am sure.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty.” Oubacha Khan had enjoyed the exchange much more than had the Queen. He understood her to mean that Tatary’s gathering of arms along Arabia’s borders would act as a signal for Albion to grow alert. And he was satisfied, for this was what he expected of diplomacy.
“My Lord of Kansas!” The Queen greeted the bronzed, long face with genuine pleasure. “You have not yet returned to your Virginian estates?”
“Soon, Your Majesty. There is a great deal to keep me here. And I would not miss the Tilt.” The soft-spoken noble smiled, bowing to kiss her gloved hand. He was clad in doublet and puffed hose of varying yellows, with a short purple cape upon his shoulder, a broad-brimmed, befeathered hat upon his head, and this he removed as he bent.
She teased him. “You are most gaudily dressed, for a Stoic, my lord.”
“I am dressed, today, for a Queen,” he said.
“You become a perfect courtier, my lord.” As Oubacha Khan politely departed, she patted the couch to bring Lord Kansas down beside her.
He grinned, complying. “In honesty, madam, I feel like a stuffed pumpkin.”
She was comically grave. “You look very handsome, my lord. Do you enjoy the Tilt?”
“I do.”
“You do not take part?”
“No, madam. I’ve little experience at formal arms and I haven’t the retainers sufficient to support me. Not here.”
“You brought a very small household, so I heard.”
“It’s my habit, madam, for often I travel only in the company of soldiers, as you know.”
“You have tilts in Virginia. I have read of them.”
“Elaborate ones, Your Majesty.”
“But, as a Stoic, you deplore the pomp, eh?”
“I accept its necessity, madam. Here, at any rate. I share with the Countess of Scaith"—it was evident that he regretted his lack of tact, but he continued almost without pause—“a preference for simpler methods of maintaining the State’s dignity. But they will come, in time, I think. Old memories must be crushed beneath a weight of gallantry.”
“I shared that belief, also,” said the Queen. “I envy you your pastoral Virginian life. Is it peaceful, in Kansas, my lord?”
“Too peaceful for a man of my kind, sometimes, madam. You know the Virginian temperament, by
and large, I suppose. We enjoy the land. We are secure. At peace with our fellow nations and, now, with Albion.”
“The rebellions were small enough.”
“And not against the Realm, only its representative.” He made it clear he referred to Hern.
“Yes.” Gloriana rubbed an eye and dipped her chin into her ruff. “But if there were war? Would the Virginian nobles pledge support to us?”
Lord Kansas was surprised. “War?”
She put fingers upon his forearm. “There are no wars starting today, my lord. Not, at least, that we know of. I merely asked a speculative question.”
“Virginia would come to war. Reluctantly. But she would come.”
“It is as I thought.”
“This Perrott business, madam. Surely it has not reached such proportions…?”
“It has reached nowhere, my lord. Save that the Perrotts are justly angered at the slaying of their sister and the disappearance of their father. But they will cool.”
“There are none at the Tilt.”
“You have noticed?” She admitted a weary smile. “Aye. They stay away this year. The Perrotts and their kinsmen. Who can blame them? But they will, I assure you, come round.”
“I hope so, madam. Sir Amadis. His wife was a Perrott, eh?”
“Recalled to home. Sir Amadis had leave to go with her, but declined. They are separated. It will not last. Sir Lepsius Lee has gone to Kent with his wife, taking his retainers from the Court.”
“You are not hurt by such disloyalty, madam?”
“We are the Realm, my lord, and thus have no human feelings.” Her expression hooded, she looked again towards the tournament. She kept her hand on his arm. “Your direct farmer’s ways are refreshing to us, Lord Kansas, but not always suited to Court life.”
He chuckled. “You’ll forgive me?”
“You charm us, as always, my lord.”
Lord Montfallcon approached with narrowed eyes. “My Lord of Kansas?”
Kansas rose and Kansas bowed. “Your grace.”
At that moment Queen Gloriana understood her Lord Chancellor: he saw the Virginian noble as a possible suitor. Did he approve? And did Kansas pay court to her? She wondered. She looked at one and then the other. She waved a fan against her cheek.
“You have grown to love our Court, apparently,” said Lord Montfallcon.
“As I love the whole island.” Kansas hesitated. He seemed reluctant to speak further, perhaps because he feared Montfallcon’s oversensitive interpretation.
The grey lord moved in black robes slowly towards the Queen, almost as if he menaced her, and Lord Kansas began to raise his hand, by impulse, perhaps to stop him. Then he dropped the hand to the pommel of his dress dagger.
“Madam,” said Lord Montfallcon, hardly conscious of these gestures, “the ambassador from Cathay would speak with you.”
“Let him approach, my lord.” Gloriana smiled farewell to Kansas and returned to Duty.
And Duty she did, throughout the week, as the sun grew hotter and hotter, the crowd more boisterous, the Chivalric contests more glamorous, with silk, steel and water, dust and haze combining to create a scene which came, daily, to resemble a dream. She attended banquets and enchanted everyone. She bestowed honours, accepted gifts, gave out praise to all, while the general opinion was that this was the finest of Summer Festivals, that it would never be equalled in perfection and merriment. Not a knight, nor yeoman, nor ambassador, nor lady, nor dignitary, nor merchant, but left the Queen’s presence with joyful heart and hopeful step. And if the Queen had come to rely a little more each day upon her paint pots to maintain her bloom, none made adverse comment upon the fact, or even saw, as silent Sir Thomasin Ffynne or aching Ingleborough saw, how pale she became.
And Lord Montfallcon, moving amongst the guests, amplifying and sustaining the Queen’s good work, refused to see, or to listen to Tom Ffynne or Lisuarte Ingleborough when they mentioned it to him. He had become almost hearty towards his potential enemies, to his many acquaintances, but grew colder towards his friends.
Meanwhile, Sir Amadis Cornfield attended only those ceremonies at which he must be missed, while speeding often to the old East Wing; and Doctor Dee, absent-minded but amiable, came forth from his lodgings only rarely, ever careful to lock his door behind him; and Lord Gorius Ransley, at different times, lurked the passages of the old palace; and Master Florestan Wallis came weak and breathing very heavily to his own duties, when beholden. Even loyal Lord Rhoone spent more of his hours in private company with his wife and children than was usual, but this was to be expected.
And when the Queen missed Master Wheldrake or Lady Lyst, she knew what they feared and did not ask for them. Besides, Master Wheldrake was still at work on his last verses for Accession Day. Lord Shahryar returned from Baghdad, bearing the compliments of his master, Hassan, the Grand Caliph, and bringing expensive gifts, but he would say nothing of a rumour concerning a duel forthcoming upon the deck of a ship. And Lord Montfallcon was hard put to smile on the man who had robbed him of his best servant, Quire.
Sir Vivien Rich took part in a tilt and won it, but was much bruised, complaining he would not be able to sit a horse for a month and would therefore miss the early September hunting. Sir Orlando Hawes challenged a cousin, the Nubian knight of great renown, Sir Vulturnus, and, by chance, defeated him, thereafter going about the Court in something of a daze.
There were expeditions to the fields beyond the city and great open-air evening feasts, much drunkenness, so that some of the guests were lost, to be found next day in haylofts, ricks, hedges or ditches, or, upon two or three occasions, the comfortable beds of farmers’ widows.
The August air burned, but it also soothed; and if tempers rose they were soon shrivelled by the universal good cheer. Parties of courtiers, out riding early, or at twilight, could look across the beautiful hills and see the corn being gathered, see the richly decorated barges on the long straight canals leading to the river, and the city and the ships loading and unloading the cargoes of a wealthy world; and they could see a peaceful, happy, industrious Albion, and know that the Queen’s rule was good. The shades of Lady Mary and the rest had vanished. News reaching the Perrotts caused a weakening of their general hatred, and some Perrotts counselled their kinsmen to consider making peace with the Queen, who had always been their friend. Poles, Saracens and Tatars mingled with the folk of Albion, proving themselves human, decent men and women, and Mars fell back below the horizon.
Accession Day itself dawned, and in the morning the last four fights were fought, to decide the two Champions who would, that evening, tilt once more before the Queen and the winner receive the garland from the Queen’s own hand. Between these two events would come the Masque, attended by the Queen and members of her Court, to personate the characters and speak the lines. There was much happy anticipation of this event, the peak of the celebrations. Praise for Gloriana was on all lips; scandal was banished; the morality, bravery and piety of the Realm was assured, so that Lord Montfallcon’s stern features bore an expression that was almost pleasant.
In her apartments, surrounded by companions, by maids and pages, pale Gloriana suffered herself to be painted and disguised in the magnificent, glittering costume of her role: damask silk and starched linen, velvet and brocade, stitched with thousands of jewels—sapphires, amethysts, turquoises, rubies, pearls and, predominantly, diamonds. On her stranded head was a tall, pointed crown, with a thin veil of lace, to add mystery to her countenance. Behind her head rose a wired collar, so high as to give an overall stretch of seven feet, so that she would tower over every knight. Corseted, bound, entwined with ribbons, weighted with metal and precious stones, embellished with rouge and kohl, she stared at her reflection in the mirror and silently yearned for Una, who would laugh with her, make a joke of what she did, yet never seem cynical, always be sympathetic to both her private feelings and the demands of her public duties. Her bright, lonely grieving eyes stared from within the paint
and gradually grew hard.
She was ready.
Led by attendants, she entered Master Tolcharde’s carriage, which would bear her to the island, where Master Wheldrake already proclaimed the story of the Masque.
“Now that great sorceress, Urganda, did she come,
As ever from her Land Unknown,
In sea-borne chariot, a fiery sphere,
To our Firm Isle, where every year
Twelve paladins of bold renown
Assembled them a fight to make
And fame to take as Champion.”
Master Wheldrake’s voice lacked its usual steadiness as he piped his lines to a respectful crowd. He wore a simple toga, a laurel crown and sandals, and was perhaps the most comfortably clad of all the people there, whether they watched from the gallery, the surrounding pavilions or the roofs and walls of the palace itself. He read from a scroll, and, as he read, the participants began to ride over the little bridge from courtyard to island—each knight in a predominant colour, each bearing a large shield charged with the device of the character he represented.
“These famous knights each bore great arms:
The first he was the Knight of Silver Charm,
The second the Knight of the Flaming Brand,
The third was called the Jewelled Hand,
The fourth was named the Unthron’d King,
The fifth the Knight of the Broken Spear,
The sixth, of youngest year, was Golden Ring.”
As Wheldrake spoke, the named knight raised his lance—Sir Amadis Cornfield in silver mail; Lord Vortigern of Glastonbury, in scarlet armour, his shield charged with the flaming sword; Sir Orlando Hawes, in greens and red, with the jewelled gauntlet upon his right hand and the same motif on his buckler and surcoat; Sir Felixmarte of Hyrcania, whose arms were a divided crown, and whose armour was of brass; Master Auberon Orme, in blue edged with silver, with the broken lance as his badge; and Master Perigot Fowler, in golden armour, with the ring as his charge. Facing these six, on the other side of the island (now fringed with small imitation trees, over which the horsemen loomed), were the remaining six knights, and it was to these that Master Wheldrake now pointed.
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