The walls had been closed up again, on the Queen’s orders, and she considered plans to destroy those interiors or, at least, to bury them more solidly. She blamed Montfallcon for the death of Lord Kansas, of whom she had been very fond, and she blamed him for the other deaths; for the death of the city guard who had somehow died of minor wounds a day after the expedition had returned. Montfallcon was disgraced. She did not see him at all. He received communications from her through intermediaries-through Sir Orlando Hawes and Sir Vivien Rich, who were not so outspoken against Quire and who, it seemed, gradually grew to accept Tom Ffynne’s opinion of her lover: “Lucky, rather than cunning, though he thinks himself a complete rogue.” All could see that Quire loved the Queen, as if he had never loved anyone before.
Meanwhile Oubacha Khan advised his lord that Tatar might soon reclaim lands regarded as rightfully their own; Lord Shahryar sent optimistic reports to Arabia; Count Korzeniowski begged his new King to hold his forces, without success; and the Perrotts, in Kent, gained allies almost by the hour. Quire was proud of his achievement. There remained but one main move to make. “She was infatuated,” he told the Saracen ambassador, “and now the infatuation slowly deepens into love. Then I’ll withdraw and down she’ll tumble-into your master’s arms.”
The Queen, when she asked advice from any but Quire, sought portents from a Dee who steadily became stranger, but who supported Quire’s opinion with increasing certainty. Sir Tancred flung himself from the battlements of Bran’s Tower, and it seemed that Chivalry died with him in Albion that morning, and from its corpse grew the richer, darker, morbid blossoms of inward-looking erotomania which, as it often will, adopted the trappings of Romance. Alys Finch, who had given herself twice each to Sir Amadis Cornfield and Lord Gorius Ransley and had then, at the right moment, resumed a kind of modesty, had them, as she put it, panting for her like dogs no longer content with bones but drooling for the richer meat. Both had reached the stage of being willing to promise her anything in order to have her again, while berating her, accusing her, hating her for what she did to them. Phil Starling shared this lust for treachery, the consolation of the unimaginative, and slipped free of Master Wallis whenever he could, into the beds of a dozen minor courtiers, or into the Queen’s own seraglio, where he discovered himself a treasure-house of pleasures.
Lord Rhoone returned from the country to find the Court so altered he was entirely baffled. He did not see the Queen, but he spoke to Tom Ffynne of his bewilderment. “Is this Quire to be King? What becomes of Albion?” Tom Ffynne held the opinion that Quire would make an excellent candidate for Consort-a realist was Quire, with a bit of experience of the world-and not of the generation, as Montfallcon was, which feared a return to Hern’s ways so thoroughly that it was actually likely to bring about the terror by brooding on it too much. Oubacha Khan found the small black-and-white cat, now completely healed, and made enquiries of Elizabeth Moffett. He discovered an unexpected ally in Sir Orlando Hawes. Alys Finch was put by Quire to stalking Hawes. She won her way to his bed but, she told Quire, had to give him rather more than she had given the others. It would be worth the expenditure, Quire was certain. Oubacha Khan visited the members of his retinue, warriors all, who lodged outside the palace gates. Quire heard of this with some amusement. Tinkler reported that Montfallcon had sent him into the walls to try to parley with the rabble there (Montfallcon did not know that Tinkler had captained it when it had killed Kansas and the others, for Quire had put him in charge, then). Quire instructed Tinkler to continue to obey Montfallcon, to serve him to the letter until such time he countermanded his command. Montfallcon spoke secretly with Count Korzeniowski, telling him of Quire’s part (but not his own) in the abduction of the King. He hoped that Korzeniowski would then tell the Queen. Instead Korzeniowski withdrew himself from the Court and sailed for Poland, to advise swift war. Montfallcon grew madder. Quire grew stronger. The Queen continued to be in love.
Ernest Wheldrake received a knighthood; the only honour in the whole season.
“In autumn, when the wind and sea
Rejoice to live and laugh to be,
And scarce the blast that curbs the tree
And bids before it quail and flee
The fiery foliage, where its brand
Is radiant as the seal of spring,
Sounds less delight, and waves a wing
Less lustrous, life’s loud thanksgiving
Puts life in sea and land.”
quoted the poet, perched upon a monstrous stallion in the stableyard of the palace, and clad all in tawny colours, his red hair blazing, his stiff arms waving as he found his stirrups and caused Lady Lyst, leaning a little in her saddle, to sigh.
“Splendid, Sir Ernest!” cried the Queen, who had not understood a word. She was in doublet and hose astride her chestnut beast. She wore forest green save for white ruff and cuffs, with a little hunting sword at her belt and a pointed cap upon her own red curls. Captain Quire, in black, climbed into the saddle of his black mare and grinned at them all as they prepared for the hunt, which would be led by Sir Vivien Rich, plump and happy, glad that he had, in his own mind, lured the Queen and her favourites to healthier pursuits. “Hurrah!”
To horns, the hounds came forth eagerly, a brown-and-white sea, swirling and savage around the legs of the horses. Sir Orlando Hawes, close by his friend Sir Vivien, wore russet and gold, while Alys Finch rode, ladylike, upon a little gelding, in velvet skirts of soft red. Sir Amadis Cornfield was mounted and close to her, looking from Quire to the girl, anxious for an answer that could not be supplied. And Lord Gorius rode up on the other side. Both rivals wore shades of green.
Sir Thomasin Ffynne, riding in on his own horse, saluted the Queen.
“Where’s Lord Rhoone?” She had been expecting him.
“Gone back to the country, after all,” he told her.
She shrugged and handed down her stirrup cup to a groom. The hounds were on the move and the huntsmen trotted through the gates, towards the open country where a little mist could be seen on the fields. “He’s best away from the Court, I think.”
“Aye.” Sir Thomasin’s horse began to buck as the hounds went by. He was not a hunter. “And I saw Lord Montfallcon this morning.”
“He never sleeps at all.” She was careless. “Was he wandering the corridors looking for spies again?”
“He says the Perrotts have half the houses in Albion in sympathy with them.”
She spurred at flanks. “Let ’em have the whole damned Realm!”
They were away.
Soon the Queen was a good distance ahead of Quire. With flapping cloak and bending brim, he sought to catch her. Through mellow fields and over hedges moist with dew, sniffing the first scent of autumn now that they were in open country, and relishing it, Quire knew October was to be his month, his greatest success, and he could let his elation show as, chasing behind her, he entered the red trees and green shrubs of the forest, galloping on springy moss, trampling the autumn flowers as, ahead, the hounds bayed the imminence of game. “Would you not be free forever, madam-a forest spirit?” he called. “Robin Hood and Maid Marian?” And he sang a traditional snatch: