“De Jure Praedae is a learnèd exposition,” said the Chancellor. “A classic of legal literature and theory, but it is not the law.”
“For myself,” said Lord Utterback, “I like the title. The Law of Booty is fine, straightforward language, is it not?”
The Chancellor refused to be diverted, so I continued my exposition. “There is also the matter of precedent,” I pointed out. “Soldiers and sailors both fight out of self-interest—soldiers for pay and plunder, and sailors in hope of prize money. Neither sailors nor officers will do their utmost if the Crown denies their reward.”
“Yet,” said Hulme dryly, “they all proclaim they fight out of purest love for her majesty.”
The privateers have never made such a claim, I thought, but I decided it is best not to say so.
“There is also the matter of Lady Tern,” said I. “For if her majesty wishes to condemn that prize quickly—for reasons of state of course, as the ship belongs to one of her greatest enemies—then a prize court could be established here, and if it proceeds with despatch, the Crown will have its twenty percent soon. But if the Queen does not care to expedite that process, we will send the ship to Amberstone and have it condemned by the prize court in Ethlebight, and the Crown must wait for its money. And I will send to Master Spellman, who owns the Meteor, and have him send Royal Stilwell to Amberstone as well.”
For there was little doubt that the Ethlebight prize court would happily condemn any ship brought before them, for the benefit of the city and its citizens.
“Well, well.” Hulme placed his gloves hands together, his jeweled rings softly shining in the dull light coming through the narrow window, and leaned back in his chair. “Well, well.”
We waited for a long moment, and then Hulme said, “Well,” again. Then he looked at Roundsilver and Utterback in turn.
“I will speak to her majesty. You will support me?”
“I will do anything to bring help to Ethlebight,” said Lord Utterback. Roundsilver nodded his agreement.
“Very well, then, let us go. You will allow me to sound her majesty first, to see if she is in any way inclined to receive your proposals?”
Again the two nodded. Hulme then turned to me. “Goodman, I think it best you not come to court with us. I regret extremely her majesty’s prejudice, but on a matter this delicate, I think your name is best unspoken.”
I said that I understood, though I found it disheartening at how my part would be underplayed. It seemed that I should be congratulated for the capture of Royal Stilwell, not spurned.
The three lords set off for the palace, while I slumped away toward my lodgings in a spattering rain. A short distance from the Chancellor’s house, I passed by Allingham House, the Selford residence of the Marquess of Stayne. It was a fine place, of the brilliant white sandstone common in Selford, with niches for martial statues of Stayne’s ancestors. I passed beneath their stern, threatening eyes and looked up at the high windows spangled with a fine jeweled scattering of raindrops that reflected the warm golden light within. I wondered if Amalie was there, and whether she was looking down at that moment. Suddenly, I seemed half mad with desire, and for a moment I dreamed of climbing the front of that building by fingers and toes and going from window to window in order to find her chamber. I stared up, rapt in this inner vision, but then the clouds opened and a hard, cold winter shower pelted down, and my fantasy dissolved like sugar-paste in the rain.
I drew my overcoat up over my ears and ran for home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
On the other hand, I thought I recognized Orlanda’s style in the next announcement that came from the palace, which was that Captain Oakeshott would be knighted for the action, and given land and a modest manor near Bretlynton Head. Bretlynton Head, of course, was still in the hands of the rebels, but perhaps Oakeshott was meant to fight all the harder in order to make good his new estate. I was not unhappy for Oakeshott’s good fortune, but I was inclined to resent my own contribution being written out of the record.
Yet a prize court would be established in Selford, for the sole purpose of ruling on Lady Tern and Royal Stilwell. The legitimacy of other captures would still be decided in Ethlebight. I sent a message to Kevin that he should bring Stilwell to Selford when repairs were completed.
As for that letter of credit from Oberlin Fraters, I put it in my box at the Butchers’ Guild, until I could decide what to do with it. Orlanda had threatened me directly concerning that letter, and I thought it was best to forget about it, at least for a while.
I hope you have not been too disturbed by the tale of my dalliance with a married woman. If so, you may take satisfaction in what follows, for I have come to the scene wherein I pay for my pleasures.
More news came in the form of a messenger I found at my door one morning, inviting me to the eighteenth birthday dinner of the Marchioness of Stayne. The letter was quite formal, and contained no personal message, so I responded in the like style, and wrote a polite note stating that I would attend.
I visited one of my hoards at the money-lender’s, and found there a lovely pomander, gold in the form of ship, with white enameled sails, and the hull ornamented with garnet and silver wire cloisonné. A teardrop-shaped pearl hung from the ship’s keel.
This I wrapped as a present, and as a private message to Amalie of my continued affection, I wore on my belt the twin of the girdle-belt I had given her, the black jet cabochons set in the same pattern as her pearls. On the afternoon appointed, I presented myself, with my invitation, at Allingham House. The place already thronged with guests, and I recognized many of them from my days at the court. Searching the faces, I recognized many aspirants to office, or the bench, or to the generalship of the army, and I knew also that most if not all had been disappointed.
I soon realized that I was attending a counter-court, a sort of political gathering in opposition to the Queen, and I wondered if they supported Clayborne, or Stayne, or had a leader at all. I wondered also if it were dangerous to be here, if government spies were present, ready to denounce the guests. But then, I thought, perhaps I should be at home here, as another that Berlauda had spurned.
I found Amalie in a drawing room, lying on a divan. She was by now only a few weeks from giving birth, and she seemed uncomfortable in her bigness, with her swollen feet on a cushion, and her two women to adjust her pillows and bring her sweet wine. A cheerful face had been painted on her strained, weary features. Yet I saw the pearl girdle-belt at her waist, and I felt a rush of great tenderness that she had worn this token for me, and perhaps missed me as ardently as I did her. I approached, took her hand, and thanked her for the invitation, and handed her my present.
“You are welcome, Master Quillifer,” she said. “I hope that while you are here you will relate some of your adventures, perhaps especially that of Sir Basil of the Heugh, who held both you and my husband captive.”