“It went well enough,” he sighed. “Her majesty seemed to like her ancestor’s speeches, at least.”
“She has a great many ancestors,” I pointed out. “You can write speeches for all of them.”
“Perhaps I will. But first I am writing the story you provided me.”
I felt a warning hand caress my neck. “Which one?”
“The tale of the burgess and his water nymph.”
Plainly, I possessed no means to dissuade him from employing this theme, and so I forced a smile. “Comedy or tragedy?”
“Comedy,” he said, somewhat to my relief.
I looked at him. “May it be worthy of the goddess, then.”
“It needs not that, but rather to be worthy of the Queen, since it will be performed for her during the hunting party at Kingsmere.”
I considered the gloom that this hunting party had already cast about the court, and tried to imagine the dismal, cheerless prospect of Broughton, Broughton’s wife, and the Queen lodging in the same country house for a week, and wondered if that could be managed without the house bursting into flames, or without any of the company losing their heads.
“You set yourself a formidable task,” said I, “to create a comedy in such a setting.”
Blackwell raised an eyebrow. “The Master of the Revels requested it,” he said. “And a masque on the theme of royal virtue.”
I could only imagine what jolly fun this last would be. But then I reflected that the mood at the party might be so black that the play would be a failure, and never performed again, and I grew more cheerful.
Kevin and I picked up our rugs and cushions and walked down Chancellery Road to my lodgings, where I built up the fire, poured moscatto into my gift cups, and spent the long night telling Kevin of my adventures. Flushed with both wine and friendship, toward dawn I even let slip the story of Orlanda, which caused his eyes to widen.
“I would not have believed this,” he said, “did it not come from you. But yet, did you not but recently urge me to spin a tale of tritons? Is this nymph but an element of some triton-tale?”
I looked at him. “Nay, it happened. I will swear on anything you like that I speak the truth. You are the only person I have told, and you may not tell anyone else.”
He looked at me in wonder. “Who else would I tell? Who else would believe? I don’t know if I believe it myself.”
“Even to me, it begins to seem like a dream,” said I. “But when I view my box in the strong-room of the Societie of Butchers, and see the gold lying there, then the truth of it comes home to me.”
We talked till dawn, and then I walked with him across the bridge to Mossthorpe. As we said good-bye, I gave him a purse of silver worth thirty-five royals, ten to be employed at building a tomb for my family, and the rest to be employed in ransoming Ethlebight’s citizens, and then Kevin hired a boat to take him down the river to Innismore and the Meteor. My head still aswim with moscatto, I returned to my lodgings, ate the breakfast porridge my landlady had prepared, and slept till early afternoon, when Amalie’s messenger knocked on the door to tell me she would come.
“The whole court saw Stayne in that character,” Amalie said later, as we lay in repose beneath my quilt. “Stayne and two of his friends. And now the whole court laughs and titters behind their hands, and make remarks I am meant only to half-hear. Even the Queen looks at me in a knowing way.”
I reflected that if I were an honorable man, I would confess my part and beg forgiveness. Instead I kissed her and told her that the play was no reflection on her, that the satire was intended for her husband only.
“Then let them play it before my husband!” she said. “Nay, it was intended only to humiliate me.”
“Are you humiliated?” I asked.
“Nay. I am angry.”
“Well, then, if you are not humiliated, their attempts have missed the mark. You are not the fool they think you. Instead, you are angry at their presumption. They think to judge you, and they have neither the right nor the wit.”
Amalie set her jaw. “That is exactly the case.”
“Bide your time, then. Their own humiliations will come, and then you may have your revenge. But in the meantime, you must show everyone that the play had nothing to do with you.” I considered her indolent, prowling walk, her attitude of sublime languor. It was difficult to picture someone who presented herself in such a way cowering before the laughter of others. “Laugh with them, if you can,” said I. “But not because you thought the satire struck its target, but because the satire missed completely. Such an attitude should be easy for you. Or you can laugh privately to yourself, as if you knew something they didn’t.”
She looked at me sidelong. “And what would that be?”
“That those who believed in the existence of a Groom of the Pudding have no right to feel superior to anyone.”
She laughed. “Well,” said she. “That is a point in my favor. I never believed in the existence of the Groom of the Pudding.”
I gave her a look. “I can demonstrate that person’s existence, an it please you.”
“Well,” she said, looking at me under her lashes. “I think I am willing to let you make that demonstration, if you will but first refill my glass.”
I refilled her glass, and then brought out my gift, a girdle of gold links to encircle her waist, and two pendants, one the mirror of the other. Each was of gold, and had at its center a baroque pearl, circled by a design of leaping dolphins. From this central boss shone rays of pearls, in the one case, and polished jet cabochons in the other.
“You may choose whichever of these you like,” I told her, “and I will wear the other. It can be a secret sign of our affection.”
She loved pearls above all other gems, and so I was not surprised when she chose the pearl pendant. “I will take the other,” said I, “and remain the dark shadow behind your brightness.”
And like a shadow, I thought, I will follow you until the light about you grows too bright, until it is impossible to hide any longer, and then I will fade away.
* * *
Meteor sailed away, carrying my and Kevin’s combined fortunes. I attended court but found it supremely dull, everyone standing and chatting and waiting for the Queen to do or say something so that they could praise it, so I gave up attending unless the Master of Revels had devised some entertainment. I called upon Lord Utterback and repaid the ten royals for my ransom, and called also on Their Graces of Roundsilver, who were never less than exquisitely kind. I resolved to make use of the saddle I had been given and engaged a master for riding lessons, in hopes of resolving the conflict between myself and horse-kind. Perhaps I made a little progress in that regard.
Amalie came when she could, bearing court gossip to which I otherwise had no access.
I came to Roundsilver Palace one day bearing a gift to thank them for their kindnesses to me. It was a salt cellar of gold and enamel featuring the naked figure of some Eastern sea-god stretched out between vessels for salt and pepper, each wrought in the form of a sea shell. It was the first object I had seen at the jeweler’s that I thought reflected the duke’s taste, and I bought it even though I was a little shocked by the cost.
The duke was very taken by the piece, and thought he could name the artisan who had made it, or at least his school in far-off Tabarzam. He brought it to the duchess to admire, and asked me at once to dinner in the Great Hall. Blackwell was also a guest, along with a singer from Loretto named Castinatto.
Both they and their hosts were to journey to Kingsmere for the royal hunt, their graces as guests, and the others as performers. In an offhand way the duke asked if I would consent to be one of their party. I was flattered and accepted.