Gloriana

THE TWENTY-EIGHTH CHAPTER

From a hidden fountain, water squirted suddenly out of a bed of white horehounds so that Lady Lyst, already unsteady fell over with an astonished cry dropping her brimmer, her legs sprawling in the folds of her Indian gown while the Queen, her attendants and her courtiers laughed heartily in the intense late August sunshine falling now upon the gardens of Gloriana’s private apartments. Flowers of all sorts, arranged by colour to contrast, bloomed in geometrical squares, circles, crescents and half-moons divided by the narrow gravel paths and the moist lawns, the yew hedges, the ornamental shrubs of these symmetrical and comforting examples of a tamed nature. Ernest Wheldrake, pocketing a small book, helped his mistress to her feet. He, too, was dressed for the current summer fashion, with a great deal of black and gold in the Moorish style, so that he was inclined to resemble a small cockerel who had somehow borrowed an eagle’s plumage. His turban slipped over his twitching face as he struggled with Lady Lyst and eventually, after much slipping about, restored her to an upright stance. She swayed. “Death! I’m soaked, inside and out!”

Again there was laughter.

As usual, Captain Quire did not sport the fashion, but remained in pauper’s black, his sombrero shading his face (a crow to Wheldrake’s fancier fowl), but he smiled with the Queen. Of the rest, Sir Thomasin Ffynne could not bring himself to personation and he wore mourning purple (for Lisuarte) with an earring as a concession to gallantry. Sir Amadis Cornfield was opulent, half-naked in the gold and feathers of some Inca king, and Lord Gorius vied with him, as another East Indian potentate, embellished with beads and coral bangles. They paid their usual attentions to little Alys Finch, who danced for them now, in a sarong, through the rainbow fountains which damped her gown, outlined her boyish figure, heated up their ardour. “Ah!”

Phil Starling, the dancer, wore some gold things and a breechclout, along with the usual paint, and lay upon a lawn at the feet of his half-swooning Wallis, an unlikely mandarin. Master Auberon Orme, a Tatar fantastico, ran from the entrance of the nearby maze pursued by two of the Queen’s ladies, who were clad as Burmese courtesans, and almost tripped over young Phil, who pouted, looking beyond him at Marcilius Gallimari, resembling a slender Turk, his arm around two little blackamoors whose modesty was protected by nothing more than aprons of pale gold chain at back and front. All were besotted by the euphoria, the erotic air which of late had filled the Queen’s personal Court.

The Queen embraced and kissed Lady Lyst. “Rest here.” They lounged together on a marble bench, laughing up at Quire and Wheldrake. “When shall this summer end!” It was rhetoric; few there expected or would welcome a hint of autumn. “We were discussing some official employment for Captain Quire. Now that Lord Rhoone’s to the country with his family we require a temporary Master of the Queen’s Pensioners. What do you say to such an appointment, Captain?”

Quire shook his head. “I have not the conscience of good, bluff Lord Rhoone.” He pretended to frown and consider alternatives. He had been much relieved at Lord Rhoone’s removal from the Court (by Quire’s own suggestion). He remained nervous of all those he had encountered before assuming his present role. Rhoone, in his gratitude for the apparent saving of his family’s lives, had never suspected Quire to be the same hooded villain he had once led to Lord Montfallcon’s presence; at Montfallcon’s constant urging, however, two could be added to two at any time and Rhoone become a potential enemy instead of a useful friend. The first victim of this enterprise had been Sir Christopher (who had been poisoned because he might have remembered Quire’s face as well as his name), but now there were none close to the throne, save Montfallcon, whom he daily discredited, with any knowledge of his intimate past. He considered, for a moment, hinting at Lord Ingleborough’s position, but this was already Sir Thomasin’s. He looked towards Ffynne, arm in arm with a maid of honour, who had come up to them as they talked. “The Queen believes I should seek honest employment, Sir Tom.”

The old sailor was shrewd behind his twinkle. “What’s your vocation, Captain, I wonder?”

Hilarity. The Queen and Lady Lyst fell into one another’s arms again. Quire pretended embarrassment while he and Ffynne exchanged their private irony in a swift glance. “Not much, I fear. A small talent for acting, I suppose.” He referred, they thought, to his performance at the Tilt.

Sir Thomasin said: “My friend Montfallcon considers you a spy. Sir Christopher Martin is not yet permanently replaced.”

“Oh, Sir Tom!” cried the Queen. “Captain Quire would be nothing so base as a thief-taker!”

“Secretary, then?” Lady Lyst blinked, hearing her own slurred voice with some shock. She relapsed.

Gloriana became sad, then stifled the emotion. Quire was quick to understand and changed his tone at once. “My vocation is to serve the Queen in any way she will. I’ll let her decide my fate.”

She took his hand and sat him down between herself and Lady Lyst. “It will take much consideration. I shall question you, Captain, as to your proficiencies.”

Sir Orlando Hawes appeared upon the terrace above. He wore conventional shades of dark colours, purple and black, for he joined in the mourning, as did most of the court, of Lord Ingleborough, whose funeral had earlier taken place. With his black skin, he was almost a shadow, but Quire noticed the eyes linger on little Alys as she danced and ogled her lovers. Quire was greatly satisfied with her work. She had become his stalking bitch, and he had developed in her a lust for treachery as another might develop a lust for gold or pleasure.

Sir Orlando hesitated, seemingly saddened by the sight of this private masquerade, perhaps embarrassed by its echoing of the costumes of his own ancestors. Then, slowly, he took the steps into the garden, removing his black feathered hat as he bowed. “Your Majesty. Lord Ingleborough is entombed.”

The Queen resisted guilt as, the minute before, she had resisted sadness. “Did the funeral go well, Sir Orlando?”

“It was attended by a great many, Your Majesty, for Lord Ingleborough was loved by the people.”

“As we loved him,” she said firmly. “The people were apprised of our inability to attend?”

“Through ill-health, aye.” He straightened his back and stared about him.

“I have seen too much of misery these past months,” she told him. “I’ll remember Ingleborough alive.”

Sir Orlando looked towards Sir Thomasin. “We missed you at the feast, sir.”

“I saw Lisuarte buried. It was enough. I was never one for public ceremonies, as you know.”

Sir Orlando disapproved. His opinion of Sir Thomasin had ever been low. He did not acknowledge Captain Quire at all.

“Lord Montfallcon spoke in the Queen’s name, Your Majesty,” he continued. “As her representative.”

“So Sir Thomasin has already informed me.”

“He is with me. And Lord Kansas. He sent me ahead to request-”

“Perhaps he would prefer an interview this evening?” she suggested.

“He is wearied by the day’s events. It would be best, Your Majesty, if you saw him now.” Sir Orlando gestured back at the terrace. “He is on the other side of the gate.”

The Queen looked enquiringly at Quire, who shrugged acquiescence. It would not do to show malice toward Montfallcon. Not yet.

“We shall receive the gentlemen,” said Gloriana.

Another bow and Sir Orlando had returned to the gate to bring back Lord Montfallcon and Lord Kansas, who were also in the uniform of mourning.

Quire saw the Queen become guiltily aware of her own unsober costume. He squeezed her hand and whispered: “They’ll drag you down if they can. Remember my words-trust no one who would make you feel guilty.”

She rose, as if he controlled her, and went smiling to greet the three nobles. “My lords. I thank you for coming here so soon. The funeral went off, I’m informed, with proper dignity.”

“Aye, madam.” Montfallcon bowed slowly. Kansas followed his example. The Virginian was troubled and sympathetic, whereas Montfallcon was merely accusatory. Quire knew a moment’s anxiety when he contemplated Kansas. “You’ll forgive us for intruding upon your"-Montfallcon cast a mighty glare over the garden and its occupants-“games.”

“Of course we do, my lord. In such melancholy times we must divert ourselves. It does no good to brood on death. We must be optimists, eh?”

These were unfamiliar words from her, and Montfallcon looked to Quire as the suspected author.

“Will you not join us, my lord?” asked Quire with mock humility. Then, as though he checked his malice, “But I forget myself. Lord Ingleborough was your dearest friend.”

“Aye.” Montfallcon looked through Tom Ffynne. “I have none left now. I must be self-reliant.”

“You are the strong central pillar of the Realm,” flattered Gloriana, linking her arm through his. He started, as if he would pull free, but courtesy forbade it, as did habit.

He let her lead him towards the maze. “There was a reason for my visit, madam.”

Lord Kansas, Captain Quire and Sir Orlando Hawes stalked in the wake of this pair, three black and ill-matched birds of passage.

“And what’s that, my lord?”

“Business of State, madam. A meeting of the Privy Council must shortly be convened. We have news. Your guidance is required.”

“Then I shall call the Council together for the morning.” She was anxious to show that she did not reject all Duty.

“Later today would be better, madam.”

“We entertain our friends presently.”

They went into the maze. Montfallcon’s head disappeared entirely, but Gloriana’s could be seen, together with her silk-clad shoulders, over the top of the hedges. Then Quire went in, then Kansas, and finally Hawes.

From where she sat, Lady Lyst began to giggle. She saw the Queen’s auburn, ruby-studded hair. She saw the crown of Sir Orlando’s tall hat, the top of Lord Kansas’s head, with its cap and feathers. Wheldrake came to sit beside her, wanting to know why she laughed. She pointed. The two visible faces, at different points in the maze, were very grave. The bobbing feathers looked like carrion birds, scuttling along the tops of the hedges. Even Wheldrake, who was at his composition, allowed himself a smile or two.

“Why have they gone into the maze?” he asked.

Lady Lyst was unable to answer.

When Doctor Dee came up, having changed from black to robes of lightish purple, the Thane of Hermiston, in the dark mourning set of his clan, beside him, he could not see the joke at all.

“Where is Captain Quire?” asked the Thane, placing his large hand upon his red beard. “And what’s all this idolatry? Is there no piety left at Court at all? Why is everyone so naked? And with Ingleborough scarcely put to rest?”

Master Wheldrake said: “It is the Queen’s pleasure. She is bored with Death’s company.”

“Captain Quire,” said Lady Lyst with significant hilarity, “is in there!”

The Thane and Dee looked towards the maze. “Everyone is drunk, I think,” softly said the Thane, by way of interpretation and possible excuse. “Though I would not expect it of our visiting sage.” He spoke of Quire, whom he regarded as his greatest prize.

Phil Starling screamed.

They all gave him their attention.

Master Wallis had borne him to the ground and was wrestling with him in a peculiar way. It was not possible to tell if this were true violence or play. The Thane took a step towards them, then halted as the couple began to roll over and over on the grass.

“How swiftly manners change,” murmured the Thane, who was just back from an adventure. “The Queen permits all of this?”

“She encourages us,” said Lady Lyst, very suddenly serious. She pulled herself up. “It has happened since the Countess of Scaith disappeared. We all grieve for her.”

“Where’s she gone to?” the Thane would know.

“Perhaps to one of your other spheres,” Wheldrake suggested, “for she’s nowhere to be found. Oubacha Khan has been searching for her. He thinks she’s still somewhere in the palace.”

“How?”

“In the walls,” said Lady Lyst. “But where?”

“Montfallcon thinks she murdered Perrott,” Doctor Dee told the Thane.

“Not Perrott,” said Lady Lyst.

“Not anyone,” pointedly remarked her lover.

“Not anyone.” Lady Lyst rubbed at her weary eyes. “We’re suspected of Perrott, Wheldrake and I.” She sighed.

“Montfallcon seems to think Quire came from the walls.” Doctor Dee was dry. “He’ll not believe the truth, that’s why. But Montfallcon and Kansas discussed the matter at the feast today. They were for going in, not to seek the Countess, but to find proof of Quire’s origins.”

The Thane chuckled. “They’ll have to look further afield for those.”

“Captain Quire has powers that are not of our world,” Doctor Dee murmured. “He is a brilliant alchemist.”

“He has said nothing to us.” Lady Lyst became interested, for her own tastes were shared between the wine bottle and natural philosophy.

“He is a greatly modest man,” said the Thane approvingly. “He will give the Queen good advice.”

“Yet some blame him for all this idleness,” Wheldrake told him.

“It cannot be so.” Hermiston was firm.

“Or if it is so,” added Doctor Dee, noting that the Queen and Montfallcon, still arm in arm, were emerging from the maze again, “it is for sane reason and the Queen’s well-being.”

Montfallcon seemed a little mollified. Wheldrake saw Tom Ffynne turn the corner of a hedge, note his old friend, and turn back again, taking a maid or two with him.

Kansas, Hawes and Quire were still within the maze.

“Then we shall see you this evening, madam?” Montfallcon said.

“This evening,” she promised. She asked of Wheldrake: “Where is Captain Quire?”

“Yonder, madam.” Wheldrake showed her. “He followed you in.”

She seemed agitated to be parted from him so long. “Will someone fetch him here?”

The Thane began his stride towards the tall hedges. As he reached the entrance he stopped with a hint of a yell as Phil Starling flew out, still giggling, pursued by Master Wallis. There was sweat on Master Wallis’s pale skin. Some of Phil’s kohl had smeared, giving him the rakish appearance of a dissolute foxhound. The Thane made another effort to enter and did so. They saw the feather of his bonnet for a moment. Panting, Phil and Wallis came on. Montfallcon grew angry. “Master Wallis!”

Florestan Wallis came to a halt, one hand on the boy’s soft arm. He cleared his throat. “Aye, my lord?” Phil continued to grin.

“There is a meeting of the Council called.”

“I shall be there, my lord.” Wallis dropped his hand. Phil stared through bold, luscious eyes at Lord Montfallcon, smiling at him as a harlot might smile on a potential client. This was too much for Gloriana. Once again regal, she dismissed them both with a wave.

“The impiety spreads,” said Montfallcon in his cobra’s hiss. “One understands the Queen’s desire to maintain her whores. She feels responsibility towards them. Let us hope that one day soon the responsibility will be removed-” He broke deliberately from this to his next phrase. “-but when the denizens of the seraglio are brought out into the open, to be displayed for all to see, one wonders if, after all, the Queen is wise to continue with her old customs. What was reasonable and private divertissement now becomes public, senseless and all-consuming rapture! Shall we soon see in Albion some pasha’s opulent and decadent Court? Is this to become Hern’s Albion, where no maid nor youth was ever safe from infamy?”

“We shall meet again, my lord, when the Council meets,” said Gloriana distantly. “Where is Captain Quire? Is he lost?”

No one answered. Lord Montfallcon could not leave, or did not desire to leave, without his friends, and they were in the maze with Quire. The Queen caught sight of Sir Amadis, looking a little sorry for himself, coming along the broad walk, and she seized on him. “Sir Amadis!” He looked up, doing his best to soften brooding features. Alys Finch had slighted him for the third or fourth time that day and had linked hands with Lord Gorius, even as she had flirted at two of the Queen’s maids. He had turned his back on them, though he knew he would return to her if she called. He was helpless. He was that treacherous nymph’s absolute slave. “Sir Amadis!”

He joined the Queen’s party. “Your Majesty?”

“We wondered if you had news of your wife’s kinsmen. Any letter from there?”

The Queen was singularly cruel, he thought, to remind him of his inconstancy, just as he brooded so satisfyingly upon fickle Alys’s. “No letter, madam.”

Under Montfallcon’s dreadful gaze he toyed with an Oriental bangle.

“Her brothers will not let her communicate with anyone at Court,” he continued, anxious to be released from this double ordeal.

“And you’ve no urge to join them, sir?” Montfallcon knew nothing of Sir Amadis’s infatuation, so his question, in that respect, was innocent.

“I serve the Queen, my lord.”

Lord Montfallcon grunted. “As we all do, Sir Amadis. There is a meeting of the Privy Council. All other business set aside until our debate’s over.”

“What’s the cause, my lord?” Sir Amadis became almost sober.

Lord Montfallcon would not discuss such matters before those who were not of the Council. He looked around him, back and front, side to side, to show his fellow Councillor how Sir Amadis momentarily forgot himself. He made some sounds in his throat.

Sir Amadis noted Quire striding from the maze to save him. “Here’s Captain Quire.”

The Queen brightened.

Montfallcon, seeing how swiftly her colour altered, likened this blush to the unnatural shade of those poppies fed by alchemists with blood and rare earth to give forth an intoxicating and intense perfume for a few hours before withering. “Be wary, madam,” he murmured before he remembered to check himself.

She ignored him.

Montfallcon looked for Kansas and Hawes, but they were not yet free of the maze. Tonight, he thought, he and Kansas would go into the walls, as they had agreed, and there discover the evidence he must have before Quire could be convicted and disgraced. In the meantime he had sent for Tinkler. He would use Quire’s former servant against the plotter.

Captain Quire came up and stood close by the Queen.

Montfallcon turned to Doctor Dee. “Are all our members now aware of when we hold the meeting?”

“I think so, my lord,” said Dee, a little taken aback by Montfallcon’s civility. Montfallcon, these days, found new virtue in old enemies.

The Queen cried: “Ladies. To my chambers. I must change.”

With Quire still beside her she was strolling for her terrace, the maids gathering to attend her. Lifting their backs, the various courtiers looked one to the other, perhaps wondering at how much a number of them had altered in the past few weeks. The Orientals confronted the sober mourners almost as two alien armies might draw up their ranks before a battle.

Sir Amadis, hearing a familiar cry from the maze, made his excuses and, with Indian gold rattling upon his flesh, went running as a dog on the scent.

Within her bedchamber the Queen dismissed her ladies, setting them to seek more formal robes than those she wore, leaving her alone with Quire. She stretched her huge frame upon the sheets and let her head fall into his lap. He stroked her with familiar tenderness. She sighed. “Oh, Quire. Montfallcon’s determined to destroy our idyll. He refuses to believe that I shall return to full Duty in time.”

“What’s so urgent,” casually asked Quire, “that he needs to call a sudden meeting?”

“He’s afraid of war.”

“With Arabia?”

“With everyone. He fears that the Empire must dissolve if present events continue in their courses. The Tatars are ready to make use of any opportunity. There have been disputes for some while concerning Cathay’s borders. There have been reports that the Afghanians seek an alliance with the Tatars, with whom they believe they have more in common. The Perrotts, in order to take their vengeance on Arabia for the killing of their father, are now likely to spark off a dozen different wars. We’ve Poland to consider, and the war they plan. The Tatars will overrun Arabian borders, given the chance, for they know Arabia would attack them. So Montfallcon sees the Perrotts as central to the scheme and would make me marry one of them.”

“Perhaps you should,” said Quire.

She became alarmed. “We would be separated!”

“But our happiness cannot be considered here.”

“It would be stupid to sacrifice my person. You have told me that yourself. Quire-you said that I should not give my soul or my body to the Realm, merely my presence and my brain!” She craned to look, as a small, frightened child might look, into his saturnine face.

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.