“Quire-do you plan to trade these secrets for a crown?” Lord Shahryar slipped the scabbard into his belt. “Is that it? You deceive every one of us?”
“To become a King is to become a cripple, my lord-with all movement, all power, restricted. Even Hern was borne down by it. Why, at the beginning of his reign he had, like his daughter, many fine ideals. But as the weight crushed him, he gradually gave way to self-pity. He’s called a cynic for that. But a true cynic is one who controls the weak as well as the weakness in himself. Hern was controlled by both.”
“And you are not?”
“No, my lord. An artist demands freedom in which to accomplish his work. No King is ever free.”
“I hope you are not deceiving me in this.” The Saracen tucked his robe around him and pulled his hood over his helm. “I hope, also, your tardiness is not a result of any sympathy you feel for your new mistress. She’ll be happier when our Caliph marries her.”
“And it’s all the more important that she does soon,” said Quire with a grin, “for you have not told me every factor, have you, my lord? You deceive me a little and fear I do the same.”
“Deceive you? How?”
“The duel between Poland and Arabia was fought-on the ship. Count Korzeniowski told Lord Rhoone, who told me, as being closest now to the Queen, in case I thought she should know.”
“What of it?”
“Poland is badly wounded and returned home. His Parliament placed him under arrest and a new King was elected.”
“I’ve heard the same.”
“And the new King, who was the warlike Prince Pyat of Ukrainia (known for his inclinations and supported by Parliament), wants vengeance upon Arabia.”
“It was a fair tourney and my master won.”
“I believe you. Pyat, however, fears that if Arabia goes unpunished it will make her too much of a threat. There is some fear she’ll unite with Tatary”
“Impossible.”
“But you cannot reassure Poland sufficiently-for you have such large battle fleets in preparation. You stand to be attacked from two sides.”
“Then Albion would come to our assistance, under the treaty.”
“Aye-which would give Albion much trouble, but it would not show your Caliph as the Pure Knight, the Saviour of the Empire. Indeed, the roles would be reversed. The duel was foolish.”
“There was a question of honour.”
“There is no such thing. There is pride.”
“Self-respect, Captain Quire. But if you do not recognise that quality-”
“I have a great deal of it. It is not the same as pride. And pride could throw my plans and yours into a whirlpool, losing us everything. That is why you must have me bring all to a head quickly.”
“If you like.” Lord Shahryar made to shrug.
“And I suspect, my lord, that your head’s at stake, also, is it not?”
The Saracen’s black eyes grew hot. “And yours, Captain Quire, at very least!”
In a swirl of dark cloth he was gone out of the tavern room, leaving Quire and Tinkler staring at one another as old friends do who have become awkward and whose interests are no longer identical. Tinkler was untalkative. Then he said: “Is it true, Captain, that you’d bring Albion down?”
“You cannot bring a nation down so easily, Tink. I’ll merely change the structure a little. Gloriana and the Caliph as joint rulers over a great Empire. An Empire which will make enemies, of course, and require to expand itself-into Poland, Tatary the world.”
“So the future shall have much to do with war.”
“I should think so, Tink.”
“And what shall we do then, Captain?”
Quire drew his sombrero down over his eyes and smoothed back the crow’s feathers on the crown. “We shall thrive, Tink, in such a world.”
Tinkler, given this vision, could only look upon it with a shifting eye. He cleared his throat. “It would be a simpler place, in some ways.”
“It is the business of war to simplify, Tink. Most men prefer it, when it comes, because their lives are far too complicated. Peace throws men into a kind of confusion few of them have the strength to bear for long-responsibilities blossom. Most of the world is made up of weaklings, Tink-and in war they flourish. Oh, how the weak love to fight!”
He was on his way, blowing a kiss to his bemused and frightened friend.
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.”