Gloriana

THE SIXTEENTH CHAPTER

In a gown of white and green, stitched with tiny buttercups, daisies and daffodils, upon an open litter whose surrounding frame was woven with garlands of ivy, wallflowers, bluebells and marigolds, Queen Gloriana was borne by her bright gentlemen into the wide, walled park behind the palace. Here, fallow deer looked out from the dappled shade of oaks and poplars which thickly hid the high wall itself from view, while overhead, in the swaying Tree Walk, trumpeteers placed brazen instruments to lips and blew Gloriana, a greeting and a triumph.

For today she came as May Queen, into the grounds where the May Pole stood, and where courtiers already were arranged, as shepherds, shepherdesses, milkmaids and their swains; a scattering of Cupids and a Pan, some fauns, five dryads, and one gigantic Lamb. From the Tree Walk and from galleries in the palace, many other noble visitors watched the ceremony.

The litter was lowered, the gentlemen (among them the Countess of Scaith in huntsman’s garb, with bow and quiver) took their positions on either side while the company made its obeisance and the trumpets sounded again.

Gloriana.

High above on a balcony overlooking the park, Lord Montfallcon stood, giving his eye first to the pretty scene below and then to the grey cloud which gathered as it sped from the west, to obscure the sun. It had always been his regret that he had no control over the weather and that Doctor Dee, who might have been excellently employed in this manner, had discovered no magical method to exert Man’s power upon the elements. Doctor Dee would suffer with the rest, should it rain, for he was amongst them, in woolly satyr’s disguise, together with Lady Lyst (a water nymph in blue silk), Sir Amadis Cornfield (an elegant cowboy), Lady Pamela Cornfield (a shepherdess with crook and taxidermist’s ewe), Sir Vivien and Lady Cynthia Rich (huntsman and huntress) and Master Ernest Wheldrake, in some sort of elaborate avian disguise (perhaps a nightingale) with nodding plumage and gilded beak, to read his greeting to the May Queen. As the first large spots of rain began to fall, Lord Montfallcon craned to hear the distant piping….

“Green grows the earth and blue the skies.

Love calleth both the foolish and the wise.

Omnipotent Nature ruleth over all

Ridding us at last of Winter’s frigid pall,

Inspiring swains their troth to plight

And maiden’s thoughts take crazy flight.

No face may frown beneath this shining sun.

All praises sing. The Earth is fresh begun!”

Master Wheldrake pulled a sodden feather or two away from his eyes and read a little more rapidly as the ink began to spread across the parchment and blot lines he had made no effort to memorise.

“Racing blood and beating heart confirm

Every hint that Mithras has returned.

Garlands decorate the shrines and secret bowers:

In comes Great Pan to banish darkling hours.

Now across the land each jolly bell its peal doth ring:

As Albion’s Empress summons golden Spring!”

“Well put as ever, Master Wheldrake!” The May Queen waved her silver sceptre, twined with myrtle, while lackeys rushed to throw green canvas over the litter’s frame and protect Gloriana from the drenching the others must expect before the awnings were around them.

Rain thudded like running feet above her head as she took up the sword which hobbling Lord Ingleborough brought her on a cushion, and dubbed brave sailors “Sir” before, as she put it, they drowned whilst awaiting their reward. A lord or two was made and estates granted in Virginia, in Cathay, in Hibernia, to sober men whom Lord Montfallcon judged trustworthy to enjoy the responsibilities of wealth and, by sharing to a greater degree in the bounty of the State, support the Realm’s interest with that much more resolution. Envoys were sent abroad, taking certificates and letters; foreign envoys were, in turn, received, and their letters read, greetings given. Nine little girls (each one a stage younger than the last, Gloriana’s natural daughters) led lambs across the flooded lawns and, sneezing, lisped their pastoral rhymes until the Queen begged their nurses to hurry them within and dry them before they perished of a chill.

The Quintain was abandoned until the next day (or until the sun should shine). The Sun Chariot, in which posed an embarrassed, sorry Lord Ransley, as Mithras, God of Light, half-naked and damp in collapsed yellow ruff and britches, drawn by youths and maidens, also in yellow, to represent the sun’s beams, came and went, making dark marks across the squelching grass. The musicians, as satyrs and nymphs, were ordered to withdraw to the Great Hall, where the dance would now be held, and the Procession through the Tree Walk was abandoned. It was decided to continue with the ceremony whereby Gloriana would be bound to the May Pole by her courtiers and released by Sir Tancred, who would represent the Chivalry of Albion, unless the rain grew heavier, for the pole itself was now protected by a large square of canvas, rigged like a sail above it. Master Wheldrake was asked to come forward and read another poem.

His feathers shimmering with water, which he scattered everywhere as he gesticulated, Ernest Wheldrake announced his intention to read some recent stanzas from his long epic romance, which he had been writing for the past six years, called Atargatis; or, the Celestrial Virgin. “You’ll recall, Your Majesty, that Sir Felicites, the Shepherd Knight, has but lately left the company of Sir Hemetes, the Hermit Knight, who has set him again upon his true path in his quest for the Court of Queen Atargatis. But before he can reach the Court he must encounter many more adventures, each one of which teaches him a further lesson and so prepares him for his position as the Queen’s Protector, who must encompass Wisdom, Temperance and Justice within him, as well as Courage, Virtue and Charity.” A bead of water rolled along his beak and splashed upon his costumed foot.

“We recall your story Master Wheldrake, and listen with considerable and pleasurable anticipation to its continuation,” graciously replied the May Queen as Master Wheldrake drew a damp-stained volume from his plumage and cleared his throat:

“Now through a forest drear our goodly knight

Did slowly ride in doubtful fear,

Anon, he came upon a sight:

A woodsman tall with axe did shear

Through sturdy oak and noble ash

And elm and rowan tree

With flying blade did trunk and branches gash

So that Felicites cried out to him to cease

While, lowering lance, he signall’d peace.

’Woodsman, what art thou named?’ Quoth he,

’You, who art so strong of loin and thew,

Pray tell me what your fearsome purpose be

To hew so heavily the pine and yew

And threaten this whole wood to slay

And cause the healthy roots to die

So turning all this green to black and grey

When not a trunk’s left standing high.

How art thou named? Say I.’

The woodsman’s hair with radiant silver shone

So that his face could not be seen,

His beard, like burnish’d gold, it fell upon

A mighty chest of iron, both jet and green,

And eyes like two fierce stars stared out of him

While arms and hands were shimmering rose.

And now the knight in awefull woe fell back.

’My name be Chronos, Lord of Time!’ the giant did cry,

’And Leveller, my axe, makes all comply!’

’For, in truth,’ this giant continued in sober voice,

’With Life and Death there must be always Harmony,

And, since Man’s own mind cannot make the choice,

To regulate the spinning globe the Gods entrusted me:

Thus hour shall follow hour and day pass day

And year pursue each rounded year.

’But this be unjust tyranny,’ Felicites did say

’Which causeth foolish folk to grieve and mourn,

To question: An they die then whyfore are they born?’

’Time’s circle turneth,’ said the giant, ’as do the spheres,

And four ages quarter up the mortal span

As Seasons subdivide the steady years.

Thus do the Gods describe a Sign for Man,

That when in his last age he’ll wither

His birth shall surely come again.

And though Death’s hand shall call him thither,

Life’s gentle lips shall stir new breath in him;

And thus Man’s Winter giveth way to Spring.’

’Certes,’ said Felicites as he took rein,

’’Tis true that all must die so all can live anon,

And if thine action, Chronos, bringeth Man to pain,

So also doth it bring great joy to every one.

And shall I ride this forest path another hour

I’ll find that all yon ruin is no more,

That trees do bloom and beauteous plants do flower

While bounding Hope doth take momentous wing

And Glory rule throughout thy golden Spring!’”

In spite of the rain, it was Wheldrake’s moment. Not a soul in that gathering failed to be fired by the ideals and wisdom of his epic lines, save perhaps Una, Countess of Scaith, who, joining in the general applause, somehow managed to clap just a fraction out of time with the rest. Even Wheldrake took congratulations with better grace than was usual, leading Una to believe that he had at last accepted the demands of the audience and determined to please their taste rather than his own.

The rain had stopped. A little sun shone through the cloud. The awnings were pulled free and rolled aside. Curious deer continued to chew and stare from the glinting cover of the sweet-smelling oaks.

“See, Master Wheldrake, your words banish the grey skies and lure the sun from hiding!” flattered the May Queen as she advanced towards the laurel-bound pole, to fling herself upon it and laugh as the musicians reappeared with tabor, horn and flute, to mingle with the courtiers as each took a strand of bunting and began to dance, twisting this way and that, to secure a girlish, joyous Gloriana to the mighty staff of spring, to bind this innocent, flame-haired giantess as tightly as Lord Montfallcon had tied her to his Duty.

Montfallcon was on the balcony again. He had emerged to listen to Ernest Wheldrake’s verses, but now he felt alarm as he watched the merry Court surround and fetter his Ideal (for all that the chains were made of daisies and silk), and he shuddered deeply as he restrained his impulse to rush down into the park and shout for them to release her. He controlled himself, took a deep breath and smiled at his stupidity. Sir Tancred would emerge from the palace at any moment, after the Queen had spoken her lines, and free her. This time their lines would be by Master Wallis, Secretary for the High Tongue. (Montfallcon found them dry and sterile in comparison with Master Wheldrake’s.)

“Is there no noble knight of Chivalry

Who’ll come to set the May Queen free?”

cried Gloriana, and looked expectantly towards the door into the park through which her Champion must emerge.

Sir Tancred did not appear.

The Countess of Scaith found that she had grown alert, suddenly, and wondered why. Perhaps it was that Sir Tancred, always eager to represent the Queen in these familiar roles, was inclined to enter the scene too early rather than too late.

Gloriana shook her head and sang out her couplet for a second time.

There was a silence now. Water could be heard dropping from the surrounding trees, from the boards of the high Tree Walk. The rustling movement of the fallow deer gave emphasis to the general stillness. The sun disappeared.

And into that hushed, bewildered throng, Sir Tancred staggered. He wore no golden helmet and his golden, fanciful armour was only half buckled. Loose plates flapped about him and clattered as he walked.

Lady Lyst’s high, gasping scream was echoed by more than one other in the company.

“Sir Tancred!” The Queen tried to struggle out of the bonds, but she was completely trapped.

There were bloody smears on Tancred’s golden armour. There was blood on his face, on his moustaches, and on his hands. Tears sprang from his staring eyes and his red mouth gaped as if pain turned him dumb.

The Countess of Scaith was first to reach him, to take his arm. “Sir Tancred. What has happened?”

The Queen’s Champion groaned and heaved words out of him. “She is dead,” he said. “The Lady Mary. I have…I have come…Oh, she is murdered!”

“Free me!” cried Gloriana, struggling from behind them, the great pole swaying. “Free me, someone!”