Gloriana

by Michael Moorcock

  He reassured her. “Aye. I think Montfallcon’s mistaken, anyway. Who’s to say the Perrotts in their angry mood would agree to any match? They want vengeance. Besides, I doubt if a marriage could stop war now. Unless it be marriage to Hassan himself.”

  “I could not marry Hassan.”

  “Marriage to him would at least leave us free to be lovers,” said Quire with a quiet smile. “He would be glad to encourage us, if we were discreet.”

  She put a hand to his lips. He kissed the fingers. She stroked his heavy jaw. “No cynicism. Besides, Hassan would demand too much. There are many nobles, I know, who favour the match, for he’s seen as strong and manly. My master.”

  Quire nodded. “If you were ever to make a sacrifice—and I say that you should not, as you know—then you should consider marriage to Hassan. It would be the only sane decision.”

  She drew him down to her. “Stop. I’ll have too much of this talk later. I love you, Quire.”

  His voice contained a note he had never heard in it before as he steadied himself against her passion and said to her: “I love you, too.”

  She was Gloriana Regina now, in all her conventional magnificence, the orb in one hand, the sceptre in the other, two gauzy collars behind her back, like fairy wings, a massive starched ruff, stomacher and farthingale, varicoloured brocade and embroidered silks, huge pearls covering her person like tears, diamonds encrusting sleeves and breast. He removed the sombrero and kissed her hand. She was returned from the Council. He took the sceptre and the orb from her and handed them to a footman to replace in their cabinet. He brought her a glass of wine, which she sipped, smiling down on this courteous dwarf.

  “You are pale,” he said. He went behind her to loosen her stomacher, barely able to reach over the frame of the farthingale. He fumbled with the laces and she laughed, calling in her ladies.

  “There was more to the meeting than I had anticipated,” she said to him.

  He sat down in a chair as she was stripped. The ladies smiled at him a great deal. He was a success, for he made the Queen so womanly, which was all they desired for her.

  “War’s with us?” he suggested.

  “Not yet. Montfallcon spoke much of you.”

  “He continues to accuse me?”

  “He believes he’ll find evidence. Did you know that these apartments are built upon far older structures? Of course, I told you of my adventure with Una. The one which has given me so many nightmares. Which you, my dear, have banished with so many of my other fears.”

  “Aye. She blocked the entrance.”

  “Well, Montfallcon thinks there are other doors—in the old wing—near my father’s Throne Room. I told you of what happened to me….”

  He raised a hand to stop this drift. “What of these entrances?”

  “He says that you were living there for many months before you first appeared at the Tilt. He says that you were the killer of all those who have died or disappeared. He has fallen in with Lord Kansas—who is a good man and a brave one—and together they mount an expedition to hunt out witnesses who’ll testify against you.”

  Quire smiled. “Were these murders, then, committed before an audience of rats?”

  “It distressed me, Quire, my love. I do not want the walls disturbed. I…” She hesitated. She was in her shift now and was kicking free her shoes. “They are the past.”

  “You think they’ll find your father still alive?” He let her come to him, in soft white, to sit at his feet while he stroked her neck and shoulders, waving the women from the room. The door was closed. He mocked her, but was kind.

  “His spirit,” she said. “There are demons there.”

  “Demons, eh?”

  “I told you. Such wretches. I felt sorry for them, but I could not bear to consider them. They are my father’s victims. Living in dungeons. Living like vermin.”

  “Then forbid Montfallcon to enter.”

  “I tried, but I could give him no reason. I know, too, that it is my own weakness which says to forget the walls and what’s within them. Therefore I cannot indulge myself…. Oh, Quire!”

  “I have told you—it is not indulgence to admit weakness. And, once admitted, weaknesses must sometimes be indulged. That is rational, my dearest heart. You must protect yourself or you cannot protect the Realm.”

  “You have said so many times, aye. Yet I gave him permission. He dared me to refuse. To show that I had faith in you, I had to let him mount the expedition.”

  “How many?”

  “Montfallcon, Kansas and a few men-at-arms—members of the City Guard. And I think they have a guide. I am not sure. Montfallcon was somewhat mysterious.”

  “A denizen of the walls?”

  “We met one, Una and I. Perhaps it is the same.”

  She could not see Quire’s face, so he permitted himself a little wistful smile. “Well,” he said, “do you think they’ll come back with a hundred people who saw me try to poison the Rhoones?”

  “You saved the Rhoones. It is well known.” She stroked his leg. “Do not fear, my love. They shall not be allowed to accuse you further. Even now Montfallcon makes statements my father would have called unquestionable treachery. But he will calm, as he forgets his grief. And so will the others who spoke against you.”

  “I have other enemies?” He was ostentatiously merry. “I’m flattered.”

  “And many friends. Doctor Dee respects you and speaks for you at the Council. Sir Thomasin Ffynne, who serves there now, thinks you a rogue but a good-hearted one"—she smiled—"as do I. And Sir Amadis will hear no harm of you. Or Lord Gorius—and it’s well known how much those two dislike one another these days. And Master Wallis. And several more are, at very least, rational concerning you. Of the Council, only Hawes is firmly with Montfallcon, while Sir Vivien tends to that position. They share certain qualities of temperament.”

  “I am surprised by the attention,” mused Quire.

  “Why so? They are jealous. They see a commoner usurping power that they feel only the nobility should own.”

  “Power? What power have I?”

  “They think you rule me—and therefore could come to rule the Realm. It has happened with the mistresses of kings, they argue.”

  “Who argues?”

  “Well, Sir Orlando, mainly But he’ll be persuaded of your reasonable nature in time.”

  “Perhaps they are right,” said Quire, as if he struggled with a conscience. “Do I help you in your decisions? Subtly, I mean? When I argue for your good health, your sanity, your privacy, am I not arguing against the security of the Realm?”

  She refused to hear him. “Quire! I shall not let you be troubled. If it continues, Montfallcon shall be dismissed. I’ll make you a baron, stage by stage, and put you in his place.”

  “Arioch forbid!” He was deliberately old-fashioned, using phrases subtly reminiscent of her father in his kindlier moods, for he knew that this reinforced her wish to please him. “Such responsibility isn’t for Quire!”

  “It’s not in your nature to want high office, that I do know. I have told Montfallcon again and again.”

  “He disbelieves you.”

  “He becomes surly. He cannot say it is not so.”

  Quire continued to stroke her, but he had let himself grow quiet. She looked up at him. She was anxious. “You are hurt by these accusations. I should not have mentioned them.”

  He sighed. He let his hand fall onto the arm of his chair. She got to her feet. “Oh, I am cruel! In that Montfallcon is right—he often warned me of it when I was a child. I have much of my father in me. I should control it more!”

  “No, no,” said Quire and shook his head. “But I admit I am disturbed by this. In innocence I sought to please you at the Tilt. I suppose that it was a silly scheme. While I guested with Master Tolcharde and he showed me the device, the chariot he’d made for you, I conceived the escapade in a spirit of Romance. Then this began to happen: Love. Now I find there is also a great deal of hate
. I am,” he said, turning his head away, “not used to being so hated.”

  “My love will vanquish all that hate,” she promised. “My love is strong. Never has anyone loved as I love you, my darling Quire!” She drew him in. “This will all pass soon,” she promised.

  He stood away from her, kissing her hands. “I’ll walk a little,” he said. “In the grounds.”

  Diffidently, she asked: “Shall I walk with you? I’d enjoy the cool air.”

  He shook his head. “Let me gather myself. I’ll return to you soon and, you shall see, I’ll be amusing. Happy once more. And that happiness I’ll share with you.”

  She was reluctant to set him free, but she knew she must resist all jealousy or it would threaten her marvellous temper. She became grave. “Very well. But do come back to me soon.”

  A smile of acquiescence, a kiss of encouragement, and Quire opened the doors, moving between her cheerful ladies, down the stairs, past silent, darkened rooms, out of the windows, into the garden. He remained on the terrace, looking this way and that, then swiftly stepped through moonlight, crossing the lawns and entering the maze, where he had earlier arranged his usual appointment with his most important pawns, his two personally trained and by now proficient traitors.

  THE TWENTY-NINTH CHAPTER

  In Which Lord Montallcon’s Expedition Returns from the Walls with News of Further Death and Presents Captain Quire with a Small Astonishment

  WE HAVE STILL TO HEAR from Lord Montfallcon.” The Queen spoke with casual amusement as she sat with sampler and needle on the couch beside Quire, who had borrowed some Greek book from Doctor Dee and was reading it. The mood of the Withdrawing Room this morning was relaxed. A few ladies attended the Queen, Tom Ffynne had been and gone, to say that Lord Montfallcon and Lord Kansas had entered the walls the previous night, taking torches and swordsmen, finding an opening in a gallery above the old Throne Chamber.

  “You would think a search would not take so many hours,” agreed Quire from the other side of his book.

  “You do not know those tunnels. There are many. They are intricate.”

  “Aha,” said Quire vaguely, as if he did not properly listen to her. Then he said: “Should I, perhaps, go with some of your Pensioners to look for him?”

  “Oh, no! Why seek the one who would accuse you? He spends longer than he needs because he won’t admit there’s no evidence there against you.”

  “Nonetheless,” said Quire, closing his book, “it might be practical to take a few guards to the Throne Room, at least, and to wait for them.”

  “You are too charitable.” Gloriana concentrated upon a difficult stitch. “Why should you be concerned for them?”

  “Perhaps I wish my own ordeal ended?” he suggested.

  “Forgive me.” She set aside her sewing. “Now I understand. Very well, you can take some Pensioners, if you desire, but do not enter the walls, I beg you.”

  “You humour me.” He rose and kissed her. “Thanks.” Entering her Audience Chamber, that great, brilliant, empty room, Quire glanced around at it for a moment before calling over one of the guards. “Bring six men and come with me on the Queen’s business.”

  They had been told by her to obey him. The guard ran off to gather his fellows.

  Quire strained his luck, he knew, by allowing himself this luxury, but he felt that if Montfallcon did recover some little piece of evidence, it would be best if the Queen were not present when it was shown to him.

  Soon Quire was surrounded by Hern’s gloomy vault, staring up into the pointed ceilings and recalling, with a certain pleasure, the deeds he had performed here. It was from here that he had sent Alys and Phil about their initial seductions; where Cornfield, Ransley and Wallis had come to pursue their passions. He had overheard conversations. He had kidnapped little Patch. And now he returned commanding the Queen’s Own Guard, looking for the gallery he had used more than once himself, which Tallow had shown him: the entrance to the walls. Quire regretted Tallow’s death, though it had been convenient, and, rather more, he regretted the man’s escape, his crawling away for aid.

  He smiled to himself, wondering how Montfallcon fared against the vagabond army; the rabble Quire had turned from individual scavengers into a pack which ruled the tunnels, terrorising all other occupants. It had terrified Tallow. It had run him down and killed him because he would not join it. Quire sighed. That had been the simplest part of his plan. He was nostalgic for those easy early days.

  At length there came a noise from above, a torch’s flickering, and he was instinctively drawn into shadow to watch as Montfallcon, cursing, burst through. Then came two of the city guards. Montfallcon leant against the gallery rail, not seeing anyone below. Both guards were slightly wounded. There had been a confrontation and a chase.

  “Where’s Kansas, my lord?” asked Quire softly from where he stood, knowing his voice would grow in the vastness of the hall.

  Montfallcon turned, still leaning, and looked down at him. “Villain! Kansas is dead and half a dozen soldiers with him. There’s a mob in there. Your mob, eh?”

  “You continue to credit me with far too much power,” said Quire. “What will you do? Send in a rival mob?”

  “Possibly.” Supported by the guards, Montfallcon moved along the gallery and began to descend unseen stairs, until he stood staring with cold hatred upon his cat-like enemy. “You taught them to think, eh, Quire? Those rats.”

  “Your reasoning’s too subtle for me to follow. Will the Queen allow more activities in the wall? She would rather—”

  “Do not speak so familiarly for the Queen, rogue! Not to me! You have corrupted her. That horrible seraglio—”

  “It was always there, my lord. I did not invent it. Why, she’s hardly used it since I’ve known her.”

  “It is the symbol of her private indulgence, of what she has become. It is that part of Hern she allows to flourish—”

  “It is possibly where she escapes from Hern—”

  “—and you! Oh, you, Quire, are Hern personified. I know his logic. I had full experience of it, eh? And now we hear it made more subtle in his daughter’s soft mouth. You are Evil’s tool, Quire!”

  “I assure you, my lord, I’ve no symbolic value—I work for myself alone.”

  Montfallcon spat at him. “You’ll perish! I’ll see to it. All the corruption shall perish! Kansas wished to marry the Queen. Did you know that? He was courting her and would have won her, but you appeared! I wanted a Perrott for a consort, but, by Xiombarg, I’d have settled for him. And now he’s dead. Killed by you!”

  “By me?” Quire showed comical astonishment. “It was the two of you went willingly into the walls, ignoring the Queen’s desire, all common sense, all warnings. How can I have killed him?”

  Then Quire frowned as he realised that the face of the guard on Montfallcon’s right was familiar. He hesitated. He recalled the face; it was the face of the survivor who had witnessed Quire’s killing of Ibram the Saracen last New Year’s Eve. The man was too astonished, too shocked to speak, for he was still reeling from the encounter in the walls, but it was plain that he also recognised Quire.

  Quire turned away. “I’ll report this to the Queen, shall I? You’ll be wanting to send another expedition in, will you, my lord? And another?”

  “We’ll find a means of controlling them,” Montfallcon promised, “and of bringing you to justice, Captain Quire.”

  Quire knew that the guard would soon be speaking to Montfallcon and that justice might be closer than the grey lord realised. He instructed a palace Pensioner to take the bad news to the Queen. “Tell her Kansas is killed in a fight there. Tell her it would be best if the walls were sealed, in case this rabble of Lord Montfallcon’s breaks through.”

  Quire himself remained where he was, with his back to Montfallcon and the others. He bit a knuckle.

  Behind him, Montfallcon lifted his sword, then lowered it again. He had sworn to have no more public bloodshed, and he knew that if he killed
Quire outright the Queen would hang him for certain. He was prepared to give his own life for Albion, but could not die until he was sure that the Realm’s course was assured.

  Without a further word to them, Quire was rapidly on his way, sending his guards back to their quarters, as he took the stairs that would lead him, eventually, to Doctor Dee’s apartments. He must demand a further favour of the doctor. He must demand poison. And then Alys Finch must lure the guard and make him drink the poison. It could be easily done, that part, Quire was sure, for Alys had murdered Sir Christopher with no trouble at all. Dee was the only problem, but there was one threat to Dee which would work, as it had worked before, though Quire regretted it must now be openly made. Previously he had arranged his arguments so well that it had always seemed he must disappoint the magus through no fault of his own. Possibly it could still be done, but he had little time for his usual clever rhetoric. He must get the poison and give it to Alys, returning to the Queen before he was missed. There was no way in which he could permit that particular witness to live: he was able to identify Quire as a murderer, and now that Sir Christopher was dead, there would be nothing Montfallcon need consider dangerous. Quire could be accused, simply, and tried, simply, for a simple crime. Anything Quire might say would be interpreted as an attempt of his to escape sentence.

  Quire realised that there were extra subtleties to his position, and that it was possible Montfallcon would not use the guard against him, but he was too close to fulfillment to take the risk. And the death of an ordinary guard would not be remarked. The body could, indeed, be hidden forever, if necessary.

  He reached Doctor Dee’s door and knocked upon it. There came cautious sounds from within. A grille was moved. Dee’s somewhat bloodshot eyes looked out and became less wary as he recognised his benefactor.

  “Come in, sir! I was just preparing her. I fear, however, that I must increase the strength of the philtre. She becomes a little difficult to control. Look!” He chuckled, pulling down his shift. “She has scratched my neck. Perhaps you can help me, Captain Quire, as you have helped me before?”