“Lord Montfallcon…” began Quire before the door opened and the footman spoke.
“Lord Montfallcon, Your Majesty.”
Gloriana was reluctant. She looked imploringly to Tom Ffynne, who was helpless. She was conquered by her old loyalty, her good heart, by convention. “Admit him.”
Lord Montfallcon, in his dignified black, with his gold chain, his iron head of a paler cast than usual, strode into the room and stood before them, like Death himself come calling. He stared suspiciously from face to face, then bowed before the Queen, still keeping his distance.
“Ingleborough’s demise, it seems, was natural,” he said.
“Aye, my lord.” The Queen inclined her head towards John Dee. “So we have heard.”
“In these days it is wise to be sure.” Tom Ffynne rallied a little weakly to his friend.
“In these days, very true.” Montfallcon stared hard at Quire, to the Queen’s resentment. She rose up.
“My lord?” she said impatiently. “My lord?”
“I intrude upon some private conference.” Montfallcon made no attempt to advance into the room. He saw no allies, save Ffynne, and Ffynne was apparently an uncertain one. “But my business is urgent, Your Majesty.”
“Then do, my good lord, tell us what it is.” She looked at Quire as she spoke. The Captain looked back.
“It concerns your public duties, Your Majesty. I must make arrangements. Since the Countess of Scaith no longer acts as your Secretary, I must suppose I fill the role. Unless your-unless this Captain Quire-”
“Captain Quire has no official function, my lord.”
“Then? Your Majesty?”
“What are the duties, in specific, Lord Montfallcon?”
“There are many who would speak with you. Ambassadors and so forth. In these days, when war is threatened, it would be wise to insist, in your person, upon our power.”
“Let them know some mystery, my lord. It could be argued it makes us more powerful, if we are not seen.”
“There is also the Progress, Your Majesty. Through the Realm your most loyal nobles await your coming. They must be informed when they may expect you. They prepare entertainments, as is usual, from south to north, west to east, in all the great houses of the Realm. With the Perrotts presently mollified a degree or two, it is of importance that you spend time with these families, who will support you, should the Perrotts begin again to speak of secret enterprises and look for allies amongst fellow nobles.”
The Queen had hardly been listening. Her voice was casual when she replied, “We have decided against a Progress this year, my lord. We feel that the Summer Tilt was sufficient to advertise our friends of our favour and health and our enemies of our strength and support.”
“It was a gain, madam, certainly. But it must be ratified. The Progress will be crucial, this year of all years. The Court can go about the land, reinforcing the buttresses of the Realm’s structure.”
“They need no reinforcing, surely?” Captain Quire seemed to regret his outburst. “I only meant to say that Albion has never seemed stronger.”
Montfallcon glared at him. “A structure’s as strong as its proprietor’s vigilance. Lice and vermin and rot can occupy its walls, destroying its beams and its foundations, so that it seems by its outer signs the best-made house in all the world-until one day it falls, all of a sudden.”
“I have heard of merchants who fear so much for the safety of their buildings that they will saw through perfectly healthy beams in a search for worms, dig up the best-laid foundations in a quest for suspected pests, and thus bring their houses down upon their own heads.” Captain Quire fell silent at the Queen’s warning glance. “But I know nothing of such matters, my lord. Forgive me for speaking on them.”
“You seem thoroughly conversant, ‘Sir Palmerin,’ “Lord Montfallcon let weary contempt infect his tone, “in all matters concerning the control of vermin. Have you perhaps suffered the attentions of some terrier in your own time? Or been a terrier yourself?”
“You become obscure, my lord,” answered Quire mildly, but he was able to show to the Queen that his feelings had been hurt, and she became engaged.
“My Lord Montfallcon. You overreach!”
“For what, madam?” Bleakly.
“Show courtesy to our guest! What harm has he done to you that you should display such disaffection?”
“Harm?” Montfallcon frowned. He opened his mouth. He said lamely: “He-I know his like.”
“What like is that, my lord?” Quire seemed to tremble with self-control as he spoke.
“Enough!” The Queen was fierce. “You are distraught, my lord, for reasons that we all do know. If you would rest, and return this afternoon, we should be pleased to speak more on the matter. Explain our reasons fully, if you so desire.”
“Excuse yourself from Duty, madam? Is that what you mean? You must make your Progress!”
“Perion!” cried Tom Ffynne, springing up and limping forward. “Wait a few hours-”
“You must make your Progress, madam!” He used his quiet, furious voice. “The Realm depends upon it.”
“The Realm is secure.”
“The Realm has never been more threatened.”
“How so?”
“Believe me that it is so, madam.”
“Show me proof, Lord Montfallcon.”
“The proof will manifest itself soon enough.”
“Very well, my lord, then we shall wait to see it.”
Montfallcon’s pallor gave way to purple. “Oh, madam…” His breathing became huge. “You are listening to bad advice.”
“I listen to my own conscience, my lord. For this once.”
“It is Hern’s philosophy I hear!” He held his ground, by the door. “Familiar speeches to me, madam.”
He had angered her again. “You may go, my lord.”
His grey finger pointed at Quire. “This maggot, madam, will infect you with the Sophist’s plague and make you cruel and hated, turning all to darkness.”
“My lord! I am the Queen!”
Tom Ffynne was lurching to take Montfallcon’s arm. “Perion. What you say is almost treachery-and would have been judged so under Hern. Come.”
Montfallcon remained. “You are with them, now, Tom. You serve them. Already you’ve expressed your liking for Quire. Well, Lisuarte had a similar liking and he died. A taste for Quire is a taste for hemlock.”
“You’re weary, Perion. Let us go to your lodgings and continue our discussion there.”
Ffynne’s hand was shaken free. “I am alone now. Alone I protect Albion. And protect her I shall, against any threat, from any quarter. For too long has secret voluptuousness been tolerated at Court. Selfish lust weakens all. We shall have Hern back, mark my words.”
“That is nonsense, my lord.” The Queen was once more placatory.
“Then marry, madam. Marry and have done with it all! The temptations with which you beguile your private hours, they now become your whole world. Find a husband-of noble birth-and marry him. Thus shall war be averted thoroughly. Marry strength, to take the burden of your private grief, to share the weight of the Realm’s responsibilities. Don’t demean yourself with these wicked, little, common, clownish knaves who’ll only do you harm, who understand nothing of Chivalry!”
“Arabia would have me marry the Grand Caliph. You’d like him for a master, eh, my lord? And he’ll help me share my private grief, eh, my lord?”
“A few more months and the nobles and the people shall welcome the Arabian fleet as our saviour. Cannot you see into what dangers we slip if you do not make your Progress, letting suitors court you as you go? I had the plans all arranged, the most likely bachelors listed-and if you were to favour a Perrott, so much the better. If you do not make your Progress, and possibly make peace with the Perrotts by visiting them or a nearby house, they’ll be arming for private war again.”
“All these plans, my lord, and no consultation!” She shrugged. “Be off with you, sir, and make further plans, since that is your will. But do not, I beg thee, ask for my affirmation and involvement.”