Also, the cannon had been cast as solid metal pillars, and the great bores would have to be drilled out. The guns would remain upright for this procedure, lashed on platforms like huge capstans, and rotated by teams of oxen. The drill would be suspended point-down from the ceiling, and carve out the cannon over the course of many hours.
Now that the cannon had been cast, and the metal cooled, the monks had returned to their home. Apparently, it was not necessary to bless the oxen, or the drill.
Ransome bustled from one task to the next, perfectly satisfied in his own genius.
“He hopes for an appointment as the Queen’s Gunfounder,” said the gunner Lipton. “The office is vacant.”
“He seems at least to have done a good job,” I commented.
“We’ll see. I’ll have to test the guns before her majesty’s government can accept them. Put forty pounds of powder in the breech, and fire a sixty-eight-pound solid shot to discover if the gun shatters.” He nodded at the guns. “We’ll see if Ransome knows his business or not.”
Lipton invited me to dinner at the Companie of Cannoneers the next day, and I was pleased to accept.
No message from Amalie waited at home. I began to wonder if the finger of Orlanda was again stirring my affairs.
The dinner with the Cannoneers was pleasant, though there was no talk of artillery. All anyone wanted to do was talk about the court, and about the conspiracy against Broughton, and my own part in uncovering it. The gossip had tumbled down from the castle and spread itself over the town. At least I did not lack for an audience when I told my story.
I did not see Amalie for another few days, when she arrived early, while I was still digesting my breakfast. Her father had been visiting, she told me, and it was impossible to get away. He had agreed to loan the money to ransom Stayne, so provided that Sir Basil remained honest in the matter of ransoms, her husband would soon be free.
I was not entirely delighted to hear this, but tried to be as pragmatic as she in regard to her marriage and its necessities. “We should enjoy your freedom while we may,” I said, and she agreed, though only after a cup of wine.
As I was an exile from court, my chief source of news became Amalie, who provided a pleasingly satiric view of life at the Castle. Broughton’s departure had cleared the field for every lord in the kingdom to dandle his son before the Queen, and the unending parade of ephebes, imbeciles, rakes, middle-aged widowers, down-at-heels gamblers, jack-a-dandies, and mere schoolboys was described by Amalie with wicked relish. What the Queen thought about them all could hardly be imagined. If Berlauda intended to choose a new favorite, she was keeping her choice to herself.
Indeed, her majesty was proving very adept at not making up her mind. Half the offices in the land remained unfilled, which kept hopeful situation-seekers thronging the court, gossiping, conspiring, and trying to somehow attract the Queen’s attention.
And soon there would be more of them, for Berlauda had called the Estates to raise the money in order to prosecute her war with Clayborne. The Estates normally met over the wintertide, in the winter capital of Howel; but Clayborne was presiding there over his own assembly, and so quarters had to be found in Selford for a new wave of arrivals. The House of Peers would meet in the Great Reception Room of the palace, while the Burgesses would use the prayer hall at the Monastery of the Pilgrim’s Treasure. In the meantime, the arguments over taxation had begun, and there was much talk of socage, scutage, tallage, carucage, ship-money, the salt-tax, and escheats. All wanted relief for themselves, and for the taxes to fall more heavily upon others. It was hoped that Chancellor Hulme would keep the Burgesses, at least, in order, though nothing could discipline the nobility, unless it were the monarch herself.
Another pressing issue was the matter of who would command the army. The Knight Marshal was an old veteran of the late King’s wars, but perhaps superannuated; and the other candidate was the Count of the Stable, known less formally as the Constable. He was a hale, vital man, martial and gallant, but unfortunately his son and heir, Lord Rufus Glanford, had not only joined the rebels, but taken with him his regiment, the Gendarmes, which were based in Howel, and who with the Yeoman Archers formed the monarch’s bodyguard. On account of the son’s considerable sins, Berlauda therefore was not inclined to trust the father.
Many of the great nobles also felt themselves qualified to be the Queen’s Captain General, and were cultivating a martial appearance, and loudly discussing ravelins, sallies, culverins, and defilades whenever her majesty was within earshot.
“I think the Queen should have a tournament and make them joust,” said I. “At least we could see which of the candidates can sit a horse.”
Amalie smiled sadly. “Berlauda would never do anything as amusing as that.”
I considered the Queen and her throngs of courtiers. “I begin to see a method in Berlauda’s decisions,” said I, “or rather the lack thereof. As long as so many offices remain unfilled, the candidates will remain in hope, and will strive to please her. Whereas if she fills all the offices before the Estates can meet, they will not only have no reason to please her, but some may be active in thwarting her.”
Amalie cocked an eyebrow. “Do you think Berlauda’s so ingenious as that?”
“Perhaps not. But the Chancellor is.”
“You could ask your exquisite little friend, the duke. He sits on the Great Council.”
“He is discreet where those meetings are concerned.”
“Offer him your theory. Then see what he says—or admits.”
I did so. His grace smiled and said, “Please don’t mention this to the office-seekers. They are petulant enough already.”
It was some time before I could report this to Amalie, for her husband had returned, though he didn’t stay. Berlauda had not forgotten Stayne’s presumed treason and snubbed him at court, which convinced him that there was no point in remaining for the meetings of the Estates. Stayne remained in the capital less than a week before riding off south to raise a militia and beat the Toppings for Sir Basil and his gang. I very much doubted whether Stayne would find his quarry, and wondered rather if Sir Basil would capture him a second time.
Amalie once more began to visit my rooms, but we both began to discern that our liaison was undergoing a period of fatigue.
Certainly, our horizons were limited. For fear of discovery by the servants, I could not visit her at her own home, and so we met at my lodgings. Amalie was too well-known among her set to walk with me in the street, or meet me at the theater—she was far too grand to be seen with me, at least without suspicion. Nor could she pass for anyone of my class—her languorous manner, her accent, and her clothing all marked her as a member of the aristocracy, and though the clothing could be changed, the rest could not. Plus, she was carrying a child, which could not be concealed.
And so, we were confined to my two small rooms, which seemed to grow smaller, darker, and colder as wintertide progressed. She came less often, and the visits were not prolonged. When she was not there, I found the rooms filling with memories of her scent, her long, lazy eyes, the satin touch of her skin, even her little white teeth. . . . But I could feel the memories wither, even when she was with me.
I wondered if Orlanda had a hand in the fading of the affair, but I was inclined to doubt it, and instead found myself absorbed in the same sort of self-examination that I had told Orlanda would no longer be a part of my life, and I reviewed my past conduct to see if there was aught I could have done to produce a more hopeful result.