The mass surged toward the gate on the heels of the soldiers, and I, who had decided to return to the country to lodge for the night, was unable to make my way against the press. So I remained by the city wall, and watched the throng enter, commons and nobles and dignitaries alike all knocking elbows in one great column.
I kept an eye out for the badge of Wenlock, in case Lord Utterback’s father had been hidden in the crowd around the throne, but again I failed to see it. Instead I recognized another badge, the coins argent of Roundsilver, and my heart gave a leap. In addition to being Lawyer Dacket’s landlord, the Duke of Roundsilver was the greatest magnate in the west country, so great that he almost never appeared in Ethlebight but followed the royal court from place to place.
Though the duke came but seldom to Ethlebight, I recognized him from his appearance at some of the large festivals. He was a slight man, a little below average height, with delicate features and gray strands in his long, fair hair. He rode a beautiful, high-spirited chestnut with a flaxen mane and tail that flashed like red gold in the sun. A spray of diamonds shone on his deep blue velvet bonnet, and more diamonds glittered on his fingers. Beneath his scarlet duke’s robe, with its ermine trim, he wore a long velvet tunic of a brighter, brilliant red shade, patterned all over with swooping, intricate painted designs in radiant gold. Red and gold, the royal colors. Gems had been sewn all over the tunic, and their flashing, reflected light, combined with the soaring yellow patterns, gave Roundsilver a shimmering effect, and made him difficult for the eye to fasten upon.
I wondered if all the money in my rucksack would have bought that tunic, and I thought it would not.
Beside Roundsilver, on a matching chestnut, rode a small, dainty woman, slim and vivacious. She seemed about my age. Masses of her blond hair had been caught up in braids and coiled about her head to form a setting for her coronet, and she also wore an ermine-trimmed cloak. Her silk gown seemed to be made entirely of silver, and like the duke’s was patterned with elaborate designs and sewn with gems, and covered with a cloud of silver tissue. She laughed as she rode, and spoke continuously, while the duke looked at her fondly.
I urged my mount forward. “Your grace!” I called. “My Lord of Roundsilver!”
They didn’t hear me, or pretended not to; and I rode forward and bawled the name again. At this the duke turned to me, and with a quick glance of his dark eyes seemed to itemize me, add those items together, and find the sum less discouraging than it might have been. It was impossible to have a conversation in the gateway, not with the flood of human beings pouring through it, and so he gave a little wave of one glittering hand, telling me to follow.
I urged my horse through the mass and followed the brilliant couple through the dark tunnel of the gateway, and into the broad street beyond. There the duke slowed his horse and allowed me to reach him.
I pulled off my cap. “Your grace!” I said. “I have come from Ethlebight. The city has fallen.”
Surprise crossed the duke’s delicate features. The young duchess, hearing the news, reached for her husband’s hand.
“The usurper’s taken the city?” he said.
The usurper. The bastard Clayborne, then, truly had risen in rebellion.
“Nay, your grace. Reivers out of the old Empire. They have taken half the people for slaves, including the mayor, the Lord Lieutenant, and the Warden of the New Castle. I am sent to implore the Queen to send aid, and money for ransom.”
Their horses walked slowly on as Roundsilver considered this, his hand still clasped with that of his duchess. “It is not possible today,” he said. “The Queen is hedged about with duties and ceremony, and of course the great dinner. We shall have to do it tomorrow.”
I heard “cewemony” and “tomowwow,” and realized the duke either could not pronounce his r’s, or perhaps chose not to.
“And your name, Goodman?” the duke asked.
“Quillifer, your grace. Son of the alderman Quillifer.”
The duke gave no sign he had ever heard of my father. “You come alone?”
“I am secretary to an embassy sent by the city, but we were taken in the Toppings by Sir Basil of the Heugh. The alderman Gribbins was killed, and Lord Utterback is held for ransom. I managed to escape, and have ridden these three days to the city.”
Again I felt the dark eyes assess me, coming perhaps to a different conclusion than before.
“Do you have lodging?”
“Not at present, your grace.”
“There is not a bed to be had in the city,” the duke said. “You may stay at our house till you find a place. I will leave instructions with my steward to find you a bed and some clothes.”
I tried not to smile at that instwuctions. “You are very kind, your grace.”
“Today, the Queen provides a coronation dinner for the entire city. We must dine at her table, but you will have no trouble finding a meal anywhere in town.”
“I’m sure not, your grace.”
“You’ll deliver your report to me tomorrow, and I will consider how best to get the news to her majesty.”
“Very good, your grace.”
And so, now on speaking terms with one of the great men of the realm, I rode into the capital.
* * *
Three days later, I sat in a book-lined cabinet overlooking the park in the Selford home of the duke, and completed a letter to Kevin Spellman.
He had said “our house,” but his grace lives in a palace, one grander than anything found in Scarcroft Square. It occupies the entire west side of a park in the fashionable district just below the Castle, & is faced entirely with Ethlebight brick in all colors, the finest endorsement for our town which you can imagine. There is a great hall with a loge for minstrels, a long gallery full of paintings & statues, a library beneath a dome of faceted crystal, & marble pillars nearly everywhere.
The steward was a little put out to have to find a place for another guest, for the place was v. full of the duke’s friends, but soon enough my horse was stabled & I was lodged, provided with water for washing, and after a little delay some clothing was found for me, belonging originally to one of the duke’s musicians killed in the streets by a runaway horse. I was informed that the style was a little out of the fashion, but the shirt was of patterned silk, the doublet and trunks of brown velvet, & the linen v. fine. I was given a matching brown velvet bonnet, with a badge in the royal colors of gold & scarlet. I who had lately been captive in a dungeon was now a picture of magnificence. (And how I came out of that dungeon is a story so strange, and full of wonder, that I will not set it down in this letter, but confide it to you when next we meet.)
I felt apprehensive that I had no secure place to stow my fortune, but decided that I was unlikely to be plundered when everyone was out of the house on holiday, so I put my rucksack under the bed & went into the city with a high heart.
The city was all a-bustle with crowds & the scent of cooking. In every square were geese & hens turning on the spits, and lambs and goats cooking alongside great chines of beef. Barrels of small beer were lined up like batteries of artillery, and cheat and raveled bread piled on tables like fortress walls. For the Queen on her inauguration was determined to feed the entire city, & there are near four hundred thousand within the walls, & an hundred thousand visitors + folk from the suburbs had come to the feast as well. Acrobats tumbled for the meiny, & daring men & women performed on ropes stretched from one tower to another. Minstrels sang, & players performed on rude stages. Prizefighters battled each other with pollaxe, staff, and sword-and-buckler.