“Bold Robin came down to the water’s side
For his lady fair was there,
’Oh, Marian, I would make of ye my bride
Out of love for your red-gold hair.’”
This pleased her but she did not draw rein. Again she raced ahead of him and again he must use every effort to keep her in sight, ducking beneath the branches, causing leaves of yellow and brown to shower.
Through the forest the hunt pounded, with yells and halloos, and while Quire gave chase to the Queen, Sir Amadis and Lord Gorius gave chase to Alys and Sir Orlando, who rode very close, while Lady Lyst kept on her Wheldrake’s track as he giggled and shrieked every time the branches lashed his face and body so that he barely kept his saddle at all. And only Sir Thomasin and Sir Vivien, it seemed, attended to the hunt itself.
Out of the forest and into soft sunlight, a broad, hilly clearing, of dark moss and blue autumn crocuses, labouring for the crest, then seeing, over the tops of the flowing beeches, the hounds in full cry after a fox that clove through dense bracken as a salmon through water. Gloriana rested her horse for a moment, allowing Quire to catch her. She was flushed. “Oh, Quire! We shall hunt every day!”
“Every day, my glory.”
The chestnut was set off again, springing forward and down the hill, while Quire, becoming aware of certain aches and pains, followed.
The beeches went past and his ears were full of their hiss, the thudding of the hooves, the gasp of his own breath. He was not her match, but he refused to lose her. The horns sounded some distance off. They broke out of the beeches and into the golden bracken. Quire caught a rich taste of earth and was astonished by the pleasure it gave him. He shut his mouth tight, lest he receive the shock again. Fences were leapt, and gates, and streams, and the hunt was spread out now, following the hounds, who had their quarry for certain.
“Halloo!”
Quire moved his head and looked over his shoulder. Sir Amadis and Lord Gorius were well behind and had almost lost the hunt. To his right were Alys and Sir Orlando; ahead of him, also on the right, were Sir Vivien and Tom Ffynne; while immediately ahead was Gloriana, shouting for him to keep up. Hounds and huntsmen streamed away before them, down the golden hill towards the broad waters of the Thames.
“There!” cried Sir Vivien. “There! He’s sighted!” He turned to call to the Queen, swayed strangely in his saddle, grabbed at his horse’s mane, then fell awkwardly, saddle and all, from the racing beast.
The Queen was past him before she could draw rein, but Quire had pulled his black mare short and had jumped down to kneel beside the groaning knight. “My back. Damn! I think it’s broken, Quire.”
“Bruised, that’s all,” said Quire. “What happened?”
“Groom betrayed me. Girth slipped. Off I came. Should have seen to it myself. Those palace grooms are useless for anything but the harnessing of coach-horses. Ah!” He was in great pain.
The Queen and Tom Ffynne were galloping back. In the distance, below, the hounds’ baying grew louder and fiercer. Sir Orlando Hawes, with Alys Finch beside him, looked darkly down at Quire. “What? Another accident? Are you injured badly, Sir Vivien?”
“Back’s broke. I’m alive.” He sweated in pain. “Better fetch some grooms and a gate, eh?” He looked up at his friend. “How does the hunt go, Sir Orlando?”
Hawes looked coolly down the hill. “Oh, I think they’ll soon have caught the little fox.”
THE THIRTY-FIRST CHAPTER
The public rooms almost entirely abandoned, the Queen entertained her guests in the caverns, the heavy-scented interconnected rooms of her seraglio, where celebrants were waited on by boys and girls with oiled, naked bodies, and all manner of strange people-dwarves, giants, hermaphrodites. Where last year the theme of her Autumn Masque had been the Feast of Bacchus, this year was a more directly Bacchanalian affair, looked upon by a sleepy Queen and a sardonic Quire from their common couch on a dais above the main floor where, as if they revelled in some northern Byzantium, guests lay upon cushions and grew lazy with food and lust and wine.
Hidden musicians played languid music to which some of Master Priest’s dancers, led by Alys Finch and Phil Starling, capered rather slowly. It was as if the world wound down, in luxury and impious carelessness. A few lamps and torches gave the scene light, but darkness was sought by all, and the colours of their costumes, as well as the furnishings, were all deep.
Sir Ernest Wheldrake, stripped to the waist and revealing a criss-crossed back, lifted a winecup to Lady Lyst’s near-senseless lips. With his other hand he held his book, from which he read:
“Red was the fruit of the vine
As if it bled,
Ruby red, the grape sublime
And magical its power
So that it said ‘Stop’ to Time,
As hour by mooning hour
And head to swooning head
We shared that bower,
That bower sublime,
Thee and thine, me and mine,
And pined for the love of the dead.”
Frowning, Lady Lyst opened her eyes, the wine dribbling down her chin, and stared with some curiosity at the small bunch of lilies in her right hand. She closed her eyes again and began to breathe more deeply.
Sir Ernest was about to read again when the twin giants, black and white, pushed open the asymmetrical doors of the room to allow Doctor Dee, in his gown of magical symbols, his scrolls, to hurry in, with Master Tolcharde, in his best, behind him, and the Thane of Hermiston, in clan plaids, coming last.
“Why,” said Phil Starling from the floor, putting an arrogant hand upon an unremarkable hip, “here’s Master Tolcharde all puffed and stuffed and ruffed and covered over in jewels.” There was some laughter, but not from Quire or the Queen. Doctor Dee frowned at Phil in distaste, Master Wallis pulled at the boy, who tugged away, grinning, moving from place to place, greeting his several friends, while Wallis opened mouth and eyes to implore him, then turned.
The Thane of Hermiston stood as if he had received the Gorgon’s glare. “Arioch! What’s all here?” His great beard bristled. “I’ve seen no worse in all my travels between the worlds.”
This made the Queen smile. She raised fingers. “Come to us, my dearest Thane. Have you news of your adventures? Have you more captives to bring us, as you brought us Captain Quire?”
The Thane blushed, then glared at Quire. “Captain, this woman has corrupted ye!”
The Queen was amused again. “On the contrary, sir!”
“What is this place?”
“It is a place of pleasure,” she said.
“Madam…” Doctor Dee’s face was drawn. He had a long, partially healing scar down the side of his face. He had tried to hide it with his white hair. “We brought the Thane to you because he wishes to tell you something.”
“Is it amusing, dear Thane? Remember, you attend the Autumn Feast.”
“Amusing? No, it is not, madam. I have seen the Margrave of Simla. Tatars line the Empire’s borders and ready themselves to attack us. They have news that war shall begin in the middle of this month. There is a traitor here, who informs them.”
“Who is the traitor, sir?” Easily.
“The Margrave does not know.”
The Queen looked down to Sir Orlando Hawes, who sat a little uncomfortably on his cushions. “You see a great deal of the Tatar ambassador, Sir Orlando. Has he said much to you?”