The play, as I have said, was more of a pageant than a drama, and it wound its stately way through the evening. It was the first play I had seen indoors, and the first at night, which admitted tricks of lighting and shadow that wouldn’t have been possible outdoors. I was particularly impressed by a glowing crepuscular red light meant to impersonate a burning city.
I was also amused that Blackwell, in person so remarkably lean, had to wear padding to enact a stout respectable warrior-prince. Without the simulated muscle, Prince Alain would have been blown away by his own trumpets.
There were long delays between acts, because the room’s chandeliers had to be lowered and the candles replaced as they burned down. During the intermissions, the Queen and her friends went to her apartments for refreshment, and for the rest of us there was food and drink available out-of-doors in the Inner Ward, where Lord Roundsilver’s minstrels played a series of high-spirited tunes. There I saw the Queen’s favorite, the pretty, young Viscount Broughton, who dined not with her majesty, but rather walked in the ward with his wife, a tall dark woman, a little older than he and very handsome, attached like a remora to one arm. It was both amusing and touching to see the two unhappy people so united in their misery.
Kevin and I bought some mulled wine and a packet of roasted chestnuts, and then strolled through the Inner Ward. As usual, Kevin was more splendidly dressed than I, still a walking advertisement for his family business, and people probably thought him a provincial noble. I walked in his shadow, enjoying the night and the cool night air until a familiar voice spoke in my ear.
“Well, Master Secretary, how fares the Embassy?”
I gave a start, then turned to see Lord Utterback in a fur coat, its broad collar turned up against the night. Dancing torchlight reflected the saturnine amusement in his eyes. Surprise stilled my tongue for a moment as I stared. I bowed, then managed to overcome my surprise and somehow to compose my thoughts enough to answer his question.
“My lord, I have managed to do some good, and more good may be done now you are here. Lord Utterback, do you know my friend Kevin Spellman, Mercer of Ethlebight?”
He turned to Kevin. “I know your father, of course. Have you heard from your family?”
“Not yet. I am trying to bring our scattered affairs into order.”
“May you all be reunited.”
“My lord,” said I, “how long have you been free?”
“Some five days,” said Utterback. “I arrived in the city yesterday. My father paid our ransoms promptly.” He smiled. “Though you did not await his generosity.”
I was taken aback. “Your father paid my ransom?”
“I arranged a price to liberate our entire party, save for poor Master Gribbins, who Sir Basil was determined to squeeze separately.”
I laughed. “Sir Basil arranged for a separate ransom for the rest of us! That’s why he put you in your little house, so we wouldn’t find out you’d already paid for our release!”
Dark amusement twisted at Lord Utterback’s smile. “Who’d ha’ thought a criminal would be so dishonest?”
“I will repay the money,” said I. “Or your father, I suppose. How much did Sir Basil demand for me?”
“Ten royals.”
“So much? He asked only five of me.”
Utterback seemed skeptical. “You can afford even five?”
“I can afford ten. I helped myself to Sir Basil’s treasury as I fled.”
Again Utterback laughed. “That explains his frenzy! When Sir Basil learned you were missing, he searched the whole camp—he even searched the Oak House I was sharing with Stayne, on the chance you might be found hiding beneath the supper-table. He sent horsemen tearing off in all directions, and even sent a party to search some old mines in the hill behind the camp.”
I smiled at the thought of the outlaw’s fury. “Would that I had seen it!”
“He was practically barking in his rage, and beat several of the captives, thinking that they’d helped you. And then for some reason he beat his wyverns, and one of them blew out a breath that singed his beard, and after that he was absolutely frothing.” Utterback shook his head. “For once, I was glad to be locked in the Oak House, while he inflicted his anger on the helpless folk outside.”
I told Lord Utterback that I had rescued his signet ring from the treasure house, and also that of Lord Stayne, which I had given to his lady.
I felt a certain unease, like cold fingers wrapping about my throat. “Is Lord Stayne free also?” I asked.
“Nay, his ransom has not yet come. And I don’t know how it will find him, for Sir Basil, fearing you would lead a force of militia to his camp, marched everyone away to another of his hiding places.”
“He uses monks as his treasure-bearers, and monasteries as his banks. I’m sure he will find his money when he needs it, being prayed over by as devout a crew as he could wish.”
Lord Utterback was delighted by this revelation. “Bandit-banks! Truly we live in an age of wonders!”
A member of the acting company came out ringing a handbell to let us know that the next act of the play was to begin. I leaned close to Lord Utterback as we made our way back to the Great Reception Room. “Regarding your signet,” I said, “there is something I should share with you.”
I told him the story of the three men his father had sent to my lodgings, apparently under the impression I was some kind of thief; and of the sequel at the Butcher’s fraternity, and the admission I had compelled them to sign.
“I believe I know the men,” he said. “They are not at Wenlock House at present, so they must have taken my ring back to my father at Blacksykes.”
“Are they inclined to vengeance, do you think? Or,” I added, “your father?”
He laughed. “Tell me, how have you survived on this earth so long as eighteen years?” he asked. “Is it not enough to have escaped pirates and to have the greatest bandit of the age lusting for your death?” He patted my arm. “I will write to my father and explain that you are a respectable citizen. I will vouch for you, and urge him to restrain his retainers.”
I thanked him, and I returned with Kevin to our bench. “You’ve been living a more interesting life than you’ve given me to understand,” he said.
“We’ve been so occupied with matters of business that I haven’t had time to acquaint you with everything.”
He stretched out his legs before him and crossed his arms. “We have all the time between now and tomorrow’s tide.”
“Then in that time I will tell you everything I can.”
A sennet was played, and Lord Bellicosus appeared onstage to recite more of my lines. Laughter was general within the company, and I felt no small gratification. I glanced at the Queen and saw no amusement on her face, though I could not tell whether she disapproved of the clowns or of the appearance of the Viscountess Broughton.
Acts followed in succession, declamatory speeches, rather too much alike, alternating with brisk comedy. I kept one eye on the Queen to see whether she enjoyed the play. At one point, during one of Bellicosus’s declamations, I saw the Queen’s lady mother lean over to whisper in her ear, and at last I saw her majesty smile. Perhaps Leonora had detected the target of my satire.
I looked over at Amalie, and saw that she gazed at the stage with narrowed eyes, a frown plucking at her lips. Quite suddenly, I realized that I had left her out of my calculations. My contribution to the play had been intended as an exercise in cleverness, and the mocking of a person who was worth mocking, but I had not considered the effect of my cleverness on my victim’s wife. I had certainly never intended to humiliate my lover, and now I feared that I had.
The play ended to general applause, and the clowns came out to dance a gigue. Their usual bawdy humor, and the gigue itself, were curtailed somewhat in the royal presence, and the revels ended. The Queen and her party retired to a late supper, and I stayed only to congratulate Blackwell upon his success.