I decided at that moment to accept no foreign titles. I was already wary of foreign titles generally, if for no other reason than Loretto and other countries were so generous with them.
Except in the far north of Fornland, where they practice the ancient custom of gavelkind, we have in Duisland the law of primogeniture, so only the oldest son of a count becomes a count, or the eldest son of a baronet a baronet, and so on. Only a very few titles are inherited in the female line, by special remainder of the monarch.
But in Loretto all the sons of a duke are dukes, or a prince princes. The daughters as well inherit the distinction and become duchesses and princesses.
In Duisland, a title is rare and valuable coin; but in Loretto titles are so common they may be worth little more than a farthing.
This is made worse by what, in a strange fit of honesty, they call the “minor nobility,” who do not have titles but use the “de” in their name, and whose unbearable and bellicose pretensions are matched only by their lack of means.
None of the nobility of Loretto, even those minor lords common as rats in a barnyard, pay taxes, and instead are expected to offer military service to the crown. Because the wealthiest elements in the land avoid taxation, the taxes fall all the more heavily on the commons, and many are impoverished far beyond even the poorest of Duislanders. In Duisland even the needy wear leather shoes of some sort, however worn; but in Loretto wooden shoes are worn even by respectable commoners of the middling sort and many of the poor have not shoes at all.
And as for the military service owed by the nobility, it were better they pay their taxes so that good soldiers can be hired and trained, instead of filling their armies with arrogant nobles all a-quarrel over precedence. (Though as I am a loyal son of Duisland, perhaps I should be pleased that our nearest neighbor and dearest enemy has armies filled with squabbling and inefficiency. Certainly our late King Stilwell was able to use this disorder to advantage.)
So when I travel to Loretto, and I’m approached by some knight or noble with some manner of commercial scheme, I look at the man with extra care to find out if he’s what he claims or merely some penniless roiderbanks looking to rob me with a contract and a smile.
Thus also I viewed Prince Alicio with a degree of suspicion, but he gave every indication of being what his title claimed: a gentlemen of demi-royal status. He was dark-complected, with heavy brows and a well-tended goatee, and his hair was dressed in long, flowing curls that wafted a scent of oakmoss. He stood in that fashion adopted by the gentlemen of Loretto, with his breastbone thrust forward and his hips and shoulders drawn back, so that his graceful silhouette was curved like a bow. He wore trunks and a doublet of white samite, embroidered with silver thread and studded with rows of baroque pearls. Gems glittered on his belt, on his fingers, and on the buckles of his shoes, which were white cordovan with red heels. Dressed as he was in white, I had at first thought him a member of the sect called the Retrievers, but as I had never seen Retrievers in Loretto, I thought perhaps the simplest explanation was that the prince happened to own a white suit.
Nor was I the only man in the room to view another with skepticism, as I saw that the prince initially viewed me with a polite but frigid hauteur. I do not think that Prince Alicio had ever dined with someone as low-born as myself, or as disreputable a character as the playwright Blackwell, who, after all, made his living on the stage, and was therefore unsuited for polite company.
Nevertheless the prince warmed to us as the dinner progressed, either in response to my shipwreck tale, or as a result of the wines served, or in response to the six or eight ornate platters that were put before him: a pottage of roe deer and vegetables; rabbit pie served in his honor, with a crust in the form of a heraldic prince’s crown; a loin of veal flavored with pomegranates and covered with sweetmeats coated in gold foil; a sturgeon poached in vinegar and covered with powdered ginger; a kid stuffed with ortolans; a jelly in the colors of the prince’s arms; a heron roasted with cracked peppercorns and served with a creamy mustard sauce; and lastly a hard cheese carved in the shape of a ship, with masts of marchpane, and a cargo of strawberries, nuts, and little cakes.
I fancied this was meant to honor me.
Their Graces dined in this elaborate fashion every day, and they and those of us used to their lavish hospitality ate but sparingly—all but Mistress Concini, the musical nun, whose obese outline testified to the size of her appetite. She ate with great fervor, and drank vastly of the wine; and she praised both, as well as the duke’s orchestra. At the conclusion of the meal she gave thanks to the Pilgrim, and paused to dab at the gravy she had spilled on her robes.
“I see, mistress, that you wear robes of unbleached wool,” said I. “So do the monks and nuns of this country. But when Priscus came to marry our queen, he brought with him clergy from Loretto, and these I saw wore bright colors. Is there some philosophical reason for this difference, or is it mere preference on the part of those concerned?”
“I do not know of that,” she answered. “But the high clergy of Loretto are very great lords, to be sure.”
“The royal family of Loretto esteems the Compassionate Pilgrim,” said the prince. “They desire the high clergy to reflect the Pilgrim’s glory, and in addition believe that rich clothing will attract the common people, in accordance with the Fiat of Abbot Reynardo.”
“I am unfamiliar with this fiat,” said I.
“Reynardo stated that as the common people are most attracted by display, by tales and stories, and by promise of reward, then it is permissible to employ these tricks and promises in order to bring them to the Pilgrim’s truth.”
I was half-amused, and half-astonished. I wondered what Captain Gaunt, that self-taught ambassador of the Pilgrim, would have made of this doctrine?
“So it is permissible,” said I, “to lie to people in order to bring them to truth?”
“That was Abbot Reynardo’s opinion,” said the prince. “For myself, I abhor this teaching, and the striving for riches and display that it has caused among the high ecclesiastics. They have invented and made popular a whole panoply of gods and demigods, along with an afterlife of rewards and punishments, that are not supported in any way by any of the blessed Pilgrim’s teachings, and flat contradicted by others. I hold to the teachings of the Pilgrim as the Pilgrim taught them. That is why I have come to Duisland, and joined the sect of the Retrievers.”
“There are no Retrievers in Loretto?” asked Blackwell.
“None who proclaim their beliefs openly. For King Henrico believes that the nation should be united in doctrine and practice, and those who disdain our corrupt high clergy do so at risk of their lives.”
“And our own country?” I asked, looking about the table. “King Henrico’s heir has married our queen—has he imported his father’s philosophical conformity?”
The duke considered his answer. “Queen Berlauda has always inclined toward that sect which holds the Pilgrim divine, and those clergy she appoints to her household are of a like opinion. But she does not enforce these doctrines on others, and her husband follows her example.”
“Yet did not Her Majesty appoint a Lorettan monk abbot of the Monastery of the Pilgrim’s Treasure in Selford?” asked Blackwell.
“She did,” said the duke. “But of course that monastery is of royal foundation, and the appointment is part of the royal prerogative. Yet she also appointed Lord Thistlegorm to the office of attorney general, and he is high in the sect of the Retrievers.”
“So is Judge Hawthorne of the Siege Royal,” said Her Grace. “Surely Her Majesty must repose a great deal of trust in Hawthorne to make him the judge of the treason court.”
To me it seemed a simple enough job to find guilty whosoever the queen wanted hanged. I recalled my own time at the Siege Royal, the tall, black candles on the judge’s bench that served in the tenebrous gloom only to illuminate the stern pale face of the judge, the blood that had fallen from my person onto the floor, and the knowled
ge that I was not the first man to shed blood in that court. I had no desire to repeat my visit to the Siege Royal, and so did not speak my thought aloud.
“Poor Scutterfield,” said Blackwell.
“This is the marquess?” asked I, for I know of only one Scutterfield, and last I heard he’d been lord great chamberlain, with charge over the House of Burgesses and other public buildings in Howel, along with their staff.
“The late marquess,” said Blackwell. His tone was bitter. “Judge Hawthorne sent him to the block last month.”
“For treason?” asked I, a little surprised.
“The Siege Royal did not disclose the charges,” said the duke, “but only that they were capital.”
Blackwell spoke with some heat. “Some tangled, secret doings at court. We are ruled by shadows.”
The duke, uncomfortable, shifted in his seat. His dark eyes cast a warning toward Blackwell. “Scutterfield was always at home in a quarrel, and quick to sense a rival. He made unwise accusations, and made them in public. But because of his quarrels, in the end he had too few friends.”
“I always found him a gentleman,” said Blackwell. “I acted as tutor to his sons, when I was young. And now his sons are disinherited by act of attainder, and have lost both heritage and honor.”
The shadows of which Blackwell spoke seemed too thick in the chamber, and I thought I might change the subject. “How fares Lord Hulme?” I asked.
“The chancellor is well,” said the duke, “and is preserved in office by Her Majesty, who supports him though he is, as always, unpopular.”
“I thought Lord Oldershaw was the chancellor,” said Prince Alicio.
Which required a digression to explain that the lord chancellor, who supervised judges and courts, was a different person from the chancellor of the exchequer, who ran the Treasury. Oldershaw was the former, while Lord Hulme was the latter. Hulme was generally disliked at court, first on account of his common birth, but more so because he kept a firm grip on the queen’s revenues, and thwarted those officials who wished to buy popularity by flinging Her Majesty’s coin to the meiny. That the queen had made him a baron seemed only to make him more offensive to the nobility.
“These offices!” said the prince. “You Duislanders make them so confusing.”
“Be thankful,” I said, “that you need not distinguish counties from counties-in-themselves, or offices held in serjeantry from offices held in gross.”
“For this,” said the prince, “will I give thanks daily.”
“Sir Keely-Fay,” said Prince Alicio, “you fight wars and sail to far countries, build mills and deal in pepper and climb cliffs. What is the purpose of all this activity?”
“The purpose?” asked I. “I know not—I know only that I must occupy myself.”
“You spare no time for contemplation?”
I smiled. “On an eleven-month voyage, there’s time for contemplation of anything you like.”
“What did you contemplate?”
“The sea. The sky. The weather. I read poetry, sang songs, and debated philosophy with the captain.”
The prince nodded sagely. “Such contemplation may be the beginning of wisdom, Sir Keely-Fay. May the Pilgrim’s thought enlighten you.”
“Thank you, Highness,” said I.
I should perhaps mention that “Keely-Fay” is the closest anyone from Loretto can come to pronouncing my name, for they have no Q in their alphabet, or in their language the sound the Q represents. Later, when I acquired a degree of infamy in their capital, it was Keely-Fay that was the subject of their execrations.
“I wish to share another fruit of my activity,” I said, and reached into my pocket for a small box, which I presented to the duchess. “With the permission of His Grace,” I said, “I would like to offer this small thanks for your kindness, your hospitality, and the support which you offered during difficult times.”
Her Grace opened the box, and her mouth formed an O. Reflected in her blue eyes I could see the glittering facets of my gift: a blue diamond, pear-shaped, the length of my fingernail. She looked at me with a degree of consternation.
“Quillifer, this is far too generous!”
I affected a shrug and put on my offhand-sailor face. “I brought a chest of gemstones from Tabarzam, and am content to spare one. Though you would do me a favor if you wore this trinket at court, and perhaps mentioned to your friends that you obtained it from me.”
The duke was amused. “You turn from sailor to miller to jeweler now? You hope my lady’s recommendation will bring you business?”
I made an easy gesture with one hand. “If all I wanted were profit, I could sell the stones to a jeweler. But over the months of the voyage I came to know each stone well, and each now, like a person, seems to have its own character—some tender, some brilliant, some of greater or lesser quality, some with hidden faults, some with shining, surprising elements within their makeup. Rubies smoldering as if with hidden fire, smaragds verdant as the spring, diamonds shining like a knight in armor.… It would be pleasing to bestow each upon a lord or lady, endowing each candidate with a stone that serves their color, their station, and their personality.”
“Much will then rely upon your taste,” said the duke, “and the forbearance of your customers.”
I shrugged again. “I am not a jeweler; I seek amusement only, and to enlarge my acquaintance.”
“And profit?” asked Blackwell.
“There are many kinds of profit,” said I.
“Well then,” said the duke, “as you seek to honor my lady, I will not stand in the way of her being so honored. Be aware, though, that not all husbands are as indulgent as I.”
“I am all too aware of the dangers represented by husbands,” I said.
Mistress Concini turned to me. “May I call upon you, Sir Keely-Fay?” she asked. “I should like to see these stones.”
I was surprised, but agreed to a meeting. Being chorus-mistress to a group of nuns, I thought, was a more profitable occupation than I supposed.
In my mind, I was already beginning to choose the stones that would suit her.
CHAPTER SIX
The very next day I sold Mistress Concini some gemstones. She maintained they were intended for some ritual items at her convent, but she listened intently to my discourse on which gems would best suit her complexion and personality, and bought the stones I recommended—so I delighted myself with the thought that she has a secret life in which she wears farthingales, dances the coranto, glitters with jewelry, and flirts from behind an ostrich-feather fan.
At the end of the following week I was at the tiller of my galley Dunnock, racing across the lake below Ings Magna. There would be regattas that autumn, and I planned to take part—and with a crew of picked men from Royal Stilwell, I thought I had a chance to distinguish myself. I’d had the galley built in Bretlynton Head while I was away, and carried it to Howel on my barge. The hull was white, with sea-blue trim, and eight stout sailors pulled the oars. I had other crew as sail-setters and trimmers, but that day I worked with the oarsmen alone, and the mast rested in its cradle.
I was displaying my arms wherever I could, and had painted my shield on the fantail of the galley and on the doors of Lord Rackheath’s carriage, and set them waving from the flagpole by the house. I wished to proclaim my presence, for there was no point in my being in water-girdled Howel without being noticed.
My shield is handsome, you must admit: white and blue just like my galley. In the language of the herald, Azure, a galleon argent a chief fir twigged argent, in chief three pens bendwise sable.
Which is to say a blue shield with a white ship, and a wide white stripe across the top, with a jagged border resembling in outline the twigs of a fir tree. In the white stripe are three black quills.
Quill-in-fir. The conceit is my own.
I exercised my crew on the lake every day, and had engaged a tutor to teach me tennis. I also continued my explorations into the business of making ink
.
The day was fine and bracing, with the first hints of autumn in the cool westerly wind that brought white clouds scudding across the sky. Spray came over Dunnock’s starboard bow as we pulled southwest toward Lord Rackheath’s boathouse, and spray cooled my face and the bare necks of the oarsmen.
My crew were beginning to tire. A sailor’s life is hard, but it rarely requires sustained effort, and the lack of endurance can be a complication when it comes to running or rowing in chase. And so to increase their wind I drilled my men every day, in every weather, in hopes they would be ready when the court arrived and the races began.
The sun glowed on the gold sandstone of the palace, shining above its water gardens. Parts were covered in scaffolding, where repairs or improvements were being made, and a new, very large structure rose behind. I saw horses and wagons on the quay, and took out my spyglass to view batteries of artillery lining up to fire out onto the lake. Though I knew the queen did not care for me, it nevertheless seemed unlikely the guns were forming up to shoot at my boat. The one-o’clock gun had fired some hours ago, and so I assumed that something of moment had occurred, and that there would be a salute. And indeed, as soon as the caissons and limbers of the Guild of Carters and Haulers had placed the guns and withdrawn, I saw powder being ladled down the bronze and iron tubes. Powder, but no cannon balls, and only wads to hold the powder in place. After which the guns were primed, and the cannoneers stood by in groups, as if they had nothing better to do than to await a signal.
I thought I knew why a salute would be fired, for the Queen would soon end her progress from the summer capital of Selford to the winter palace at Howel. She varied the journey every year, and this year had landed at Ferrick, in the north, near the border with her husband’s home of Loretto, where he could receive visitors and messages from home. As she traveled she would stay with the local lords, who sometimes bankrupted themselves with the expense of feeding and entertaining the entire court—though of course they all hoped to be repaid with office, which would enable them to enrich themselves with contracts and bribes. Thus the Queen lived off her ambitious subjects’ largesse for two months of the year, and had not to spend from her private purse at all.
Quillifer the Knight Page 7
