When the king and queen were seated, a herald called the audience to attention with a blast on his horn, and announced that the masque they were about to see was The Triumph of Peace, written by James Shirley, and first performed for her majesty in London nine years earlier. With due regard to cost and the sacrifices of her loyal subjects, her gracious majesty had commanded that this production be made suitable to the present time and place. The entertainment would therefore be modest, and would last but an hour. At this there was more applause, although whether this was in appreciation of her majesty’s concern for her subjects or the reduced length of the performance, Thomas was uncertain. He took another look around the courtyard. Still no Jane. The masque began.
From the Fellows’ Quadrangle behind Thomas, a procession of courtiers entered through a high arch, to joyous acclaim. There were perhaps twenty of them – Thomas guessed at a fifth of the number employed in the London production – fantastically dressed and bejewelled in costumes of crimson, blue and gold. Having proceeded in stately fashion around the courtyard, they took up station near the gatehouse. These magnificent courtiers were followed by a coach transformed into a golden chariot, and drawn by four matched white stallions in gold and crimson cloths. The chariot carried two lutenists, and four singers dressed as celestial bodies. Thomas recognized the sun and the moon, but the other two defeated him. The celestial bodies sang a fulsome eulogy to the king and queen, as their chariot cautiously circled the narrow courtyard.
Two more chariots, similarly decorated, followed, this time from the direction of the chapel. These, the herald told them, carried the spirits of Peace, Law and Justice, who descended from the chariots to honour the king and queen in speech and song. While they were doing so, a second troupe of courtiers entered the now rather crowded courtyard. These too wore a variety of dazzling costumes and headdresses. The herald helpfully informed the audience that these performers represented Opinion, Fancy, Jollity, Novelty, Confidence and assorted other qualities, as well as the customary tradespeople. One of them, who Thomas thought might be Jollity, was dressed as a morris dancer.
Poems and songs, all declaiming the many virtues of their majesties, and expressing the loyal wish that they be swiftly restored to their thrones in London, occupied most of the allocated hour. The finale, against the backdrop of a windmill, featured an elderly Don Quixote, his plump steward Sancho Panza and an unnamed knight. Between them, they staged a brief mock battle, much appreciated by the audience. As they left the courtyard, followed by the chariots and horses, the procession of musicians, singers and courtiers bowed low to the king and queen, and waved gaily to the delighted audience. It was hard to be sure, but Lady Romilly did not appear to be among them.
Despite the queen’s avowed sensitivity to the needs of her citizens, Thomas thought, the masque must have cost a tidy sum to stage. Taking his lead from his large neighbours, he rose and wandered into the middle of the courtyard. While their majesties, beaming and waving, remained seated, an army of servants arrived to clear away the seats of the audience, and to bring out from the college kitchens trays laden with claret and hock, pastries, fruits, sweetmeats and cakes. Thomas took a glass of hock and edged round the crowd towards the gatehouse. Not wanting to be drawn into discussion of the entertainment, or indeed of anything else, he planned to slip away unnoticed. He was about to make his escape when he glimpsed Jane Romilly. She was on the far side of the courtyard, deep in conver sation with a tall man in a dazzling blue coat and crimson breeches. Thomas peered through the crowd. It was Francis Fayne. Jane Romilly and Francis Fayne, and giving every appearance of being well acquainted. How unexpected – and how disappointing. He turned to go. Then, from behind him, a voice he knew at once said quietly, ‘Master Hill. I had not thought to meet you in such a place.’ She had seen him and walked over.
Thomas turned back, and took the outstretched hand. ‘Lady Romilly. An unexpected pleasure.’ Today she wore a pale blue skirt, embroidered, as before, with tiny flowers, and with a low neckline and narrow sleeves decorated with royal blue ribbons. Her black curls tumbled about her bare shoulders. The lady Thomas had chanced to meet in the street was a very beautiful lady indeed.
‘And how do you come to be at the masque, Master Hill?’
‘I was invited by Master Tobias Rush. No doubt you know him.’
Jane’s eyes narrowed. ‘Indeed I do, sir. You are well connected.’
‘Not really, madam. Master Rush is acquainted with my old tutor, Abraham Fletcher.’
‘I recall that you are visiting him at Pembroke. How is he?’
‘Blind, madam, and a little infirm, but his mind is as sharp as ever.’
‘And how long shall you be staying?’
‘That I am unsure of, madam. There are affairs that may detain me.’
‘I see. And what did you make of the masque?’ asked Jane, changing the subject.
‘I found it, ah, extraordinary.’
Jane laughed lightly. ‘Nicely put, sir. I am devoted to Queen Henrietta Maria, a gentle and pious lady, but her masques are indeed extraordinary. She was a dear friend to Master Rubens, you know, and to Inigo Jones, who designed the original set for The Triumph of Peace. Her majesty takes a great interest in the arts of painting and drama.’
‘Your devotion does you credit, madam.’ Thomas hesitated. ‘And I see you know Captain Fayne.’
‘Slightly. Oxford is not a large town and we all move in small circles. Captain Fayne and I have met before.’
‘Quite so. May I ask you a question?’
‘Certainly, sir, as long as it is a respectable one.’
‘I think it is. What exactly does a lady-in-waiting do?’
Again Jane laughed. ‘She waits, mostly. Waits for her majesty to call upon her services. Then she attends to her majesty’s needs, and sees that she is comfortable and content. Sometimes she is also required to attend to the queen’s spaniels.’
‘And her dwarf?’
‘Mr Hudson, thankfully, looks after himself.’
‘Thank you, madam. Was the question respectable?’
‘It was. I thought you might ask about my eyes. They are frequently asked about.’
‘I had noticed them. Most unusual, if I may say so.’
‘I’m fortunate to have been born the daughter of a squire. My father says that, had I been born to a carpenter, I would have been burned as a witch long ago. No one in Yorkshire had ever before seen eyes of different colours on the same face.’ Jane put out a hand to pick a stray thread from Thomas’s coat. As she did so, she noticed Tobias Rush looking at them with interest. ‘I see Master Rush is observing us closely, Master Hill. He is a loyal friend to the king, yet he always reminds me of a raven. Black feathers, black eyes, long beak. He stands out in a crowd of peacocks.’
Thomas turned and bowed to Rush, who acknowledged him with a tip of his black hat. ‘Master Rush has been most solicitous to me. But I know what you mean. There is something unsettling about him. Do you know anything of his history?’
‘Very little, except that he’s highly regarded by the king. The queen, on the other hand, does not care for him. I did hear that he is of humble origins, and that his father was a turnkey in London. If that’s true, he’s come far.’ Jane looked over his shoulder. ‘Here is Captain Fayne. Allow me to introduce you. He too is staying in Pembroke.’ Thomas turned to see Fayne striding towards them. ‘Francis,’ she said, ‘allow me to present Master Thomas Hill, in Oxford to visit an old friend. Master Hill, this is Captain Fayne.’
‘Captain Fayne and I are acquainted, Lady Romilly,’ replied Thomas with a smile. ‘We happened to meet in the college.’
Fayne’s hooded eyes narrowed. ‘Indeed we did. A bookseller, was it not?’
‘Indeed, sir.’
‘A bookseller with a comfortable room to himself.’
‘I am fortunate in that respect.’
‘You are a bookseller, Master Hill?’ asked Jane.
‘I am, madam. I have
a small shop in Romsey.’
‘I recall your mentioning Romsey.’
‘I cannot imagine what a little bookseller is doing in Oxford at such a time, Hill. Can you enlighten us?’ asked Fayne.
‘I am on the king’s business. I can say no more.’
Fayne bent his head to put his face in front of Thomas’s, and hissed, ‘Well, make haste and do the king’s business, Hill, because I want my room back.’
Thomas retreated a step, and looked enquiringly at Jane. How did she come to know this creature? Fayne sounded as if he would like nothing better than to tear Thomas into small pieces and, if they had been anywhere other than at a royal masque, he would have done so. Jane glanced to her left. ‘Master Hill, the queen is signalling. She requires my presence, and, if I’m not mistaken, yours too.’
‘Mine? Surely not.’
‘Her majesty takes a close interest in her staff and their friends. She probably wants to know who you are. Come. I shall present you.’ Together they left Fayne standing on his own. Thomas sensed dark eyes boring into the back of his neck. Just as well the king and queen were present or he might by now have been disembowelled.
Before the queen, Jane curtseyed and Thomas bowed.
‘And who is this, Lady Romilly?’
‘Your majesty, this is Master Thomas Hill, in Oxford visiting his old tutor. We met by chance in the town.’ Thomas bowed again. The queen peered at him. She looked a formidable lady. No wonder some called her the ‘Generalissima’.
‘Master Hill. We welcome you to Oxford, now capital of England, and the seat of its lawful parliament.’
‘Thank you, your majesty.’
‘Lady Romilly is a loyal servant and a dear friend. He who harms her harms me. If she is also your friend, be sure to protect her from danger at all times. With your life, if needs must.’
‘That I certainly shall, your majesty.’
‘Good. We are pleased to have met you, Master Hill.’
A third bow, and a cautious retreat.
‘With my life? A little dramatic on so short an acquaintance, don’t you think?’ said Thomas.
‘The queen is not given to understatement. Do not take her too literally.’
‘I shall try not to. Now, if you will excuse me, Lady Romilly,’ he said, when they had moved into the crowd, ‘I have a letter to give to Master Rush. Then I will slip away. Perhaps we shall meet again.’
‘I would like that, Master Hill. You have told me little about yourself. Or about what really brought you to Oxford.’ Thomas took his leave with a polite smile.
Rush watched him approach. ‘Master Hill, I see you are acquainted with Lady Romilly. A charming lady. How do you come to know her?’
‘We met by chance in the street. I was able to render a small service to the lady.’
‘How fortunate. A lady to whom many would like to render a small service.’
Thomas ignored the unexpected vulgarity. ‘You kindly agreed to have a letter delivered to my sister, sir. Here it is.’
‘By all means. It shall go with the next messenger.’
‘I’m grateful, sir.’ Thomas retreated towards the gate. Tobias Rush was indeed an unusual man. Forbidding in manner, kindly in deed. Scrupulously polite one day, coarse the next. Not an easy book to read.
Having successfully navigated Blue Boar Street, he arrived back at Pembroke to be greeted just inside the gate by an indignant Fayne. ‘And what, may I ask, was a miserable bookseller doing at the queen’s masque?’ he demanded.
‘I was invited, sir, as, I imagine, were you.’
‘Naturally I was invited. I have been presented more than once to her majesty. She is aware of my loyalty to her and my interest in the dramatic arts. What I want to know is why you were invited, and by whom?’
‘I was invited by Master Rush.’
‘Rush. I might have guessed it.’
‘Now, sir, if you will excuse me,’ said Thomas politely, ‘I have work to do.’
‘And what work would that be? Selling books? Or something more sinister? If I thought for a second that you were disloyal to the Crown, Hill, I’d have you interrogated. And don’t forget it.’
‘I shan’t. Good day, sir.’
‘And another thing, Hill. Keep away from Jane Romilly.’
Thomas did not reply. Would he have to endure this every time he set foot outside his room? The man was obsessed. A tiny room and now Jane Romilly. Why could Fayne not find somewhere else to take his pleasures? Down by the river, perhaps, where Thomas had taken them himself all those years ago. Should he tell Rush about the man? No, let it be. Perhaps the oaf would go away.
CHAPTER 5
HE STARED AT yet another pile of papers. The only thing at all interesting about decoding military reports, thought Thomas, was finding the mistakes made by their incompetent encrypters. Very few of them remembered to use the right codeword and they all sent messages full of careless errors. The only source of comfort was that, judging by the few intercepted messages that had landed on his table, the enemy’s efforts were every bit as feeble.
The subject matter was irredeemably tedious. When lacking anything better to occupy them, the king’s commanders relieved their boredom by firing off despatches on matters of excruciating banality. Why Sir Marmaduke Rawdon on the south coast thought that his majesty should be apprised of his recent attack of gout, or Sir John Owen in North Wales felt it necessary to remind him that, to be effective, wagons need horses and horses need hay, defeated Thomas. Neither, however, were as regular in their correspondence as the gallant Earl of Northampton. By now, Thomas knew everything he could possibly wish about his lordship’s household, hopes and health. But each message had to be decrypted, rendered into plain text and passed to Abraham, and thence to the king. Whether his majesty bothered to read them, Thomas doubted. He longed to find a message of extreme urgency and vital importance. Sighing, he picked up the pile and went to see Abraham.
Thankfully there was no sign of Fayne, although the courtyard was busy. He made his way past a dozen soldiers noisily complaining to a baker’s boy about the price of his bread and around a pile of calivers waiting to be cleaned by an armourer. At Abraham’s door he knocked and entered without waiting for a response, knowing that the old man might be dozing in his chair. ‘Good morning, Abraham,’ he said loudly, just in case.
‘Ah, Thomas, I thought I heard your footsteps on the stairs. What have you brought me today?’ Abraham rubbed sleep from his eyes and smiled. ‘These days, I never quite know if I’m asleep or not. Somewhere between awake and dreaming, I think. One of the curses of old age.’
‘I fear that this lot will do little to waken you,’ replied Thomas, putting the pile of papers on Abraham’s table. ‘They’re as dull as ever.’
‘How dreary for you. I had hoped you would find the work more stimulating. What about the intercepted messages?’
‘Just as tedious. Rheumatism and rations, pikes and pay, fodder and flintlocks. Why can’t we intercept a message telling us that Essex is about to surrender or the London-trained bands have turned on Pym?’
Abraham laughed. ‘Ever the way with words, Thomas. Alas, military despatches are like poems. You might read a hundred before you come across a good one.’
‘I wonder then why you thought to send for me. Anyone could do this work. And I have no more inkling of who murdered Erasmus Pole than I had when I arrived. There hasn’t been a hint of it. Please may I go home?’
‘I fear not, my friend, not until the king says so.’
‘What if I just leave?’
‘Then you would be in danger, and so would I. The king would take it as a personal insult.’ Abraham turned his face to the window. ‘I shall have to think of something to amuse you.’
‘I do wish you would. At the moment I’m thoroughly unamused. Bored to my bones, in fact.’
Abraham changed the subject. ‘How are you getting on with Tobias Rush?’
‘I haven’t seen much of him. He’s
a little unsettling perhaps, but I’ve no complaints.’
‘Do take care, Thomas. He’s a dangerous man and a powerful one.’
‘So you’ve told me. A certain Captain Fayne, however, strikes me as more dangerous.’
‘Fayne?’
‘The man you and Rush had removed to make way for me. A most unpleasant specimen.’
‘Is he? Oh dear. Do let me know if he becomes a serious problem. I’ll have a word with Rush. Now, I shall have one of my half-sleeps and hope that inspiration pays a visit. We must keep you fully occupied, mustn’t we?’
‘Please. Goodbye, Abraham. I’ll call again when I’ve dealt with the next batch.’
There was still no sign of Fayne outside, and Thomas reached his room unmolested. There another pile of paper awaited him, and, with a deep sigh, he took up the first sheet. More of the same, Thomas, more of the same.
After three hours of reading, writing and rewriting, Thomas threw down his quill and stood up. He stretched his back and yawned. He was tired and hungry, and he needed fresh air. The rest of the pile would have to wait.
Having visited the kitchen, which was as obliging as ever, he left the college, turned south into St Aldate’s, made his way to Christ Church Meadow, threading a path between long lines of mortars and cannon, and thence towards Merton. The food and the warm afternoon sun did much to lift his spirits and, by the time he reached the Merton gate, he was feeling brave enough to call on Lady Romilly.
In the college courtyard, golden chariots, white horses, singers and lutenists had been replaced by a large troop of the queen’s Lifeguards, ready to challenge and, if necessary, dispose of un welcome intruders. Each trooper carried not only a pike or an arquebus and ammunition, but also a sword and a knife. When their captain asked Thomas his business, he gave his name, mentioned Simon de Pointz, and asked for Lady Romilly. He was escorted to the Warden’s lodgings, which the queen and her court had taken over, and told to wait outside. Merton showed signs of the war – soldiers and their paraphernalia, guns and powder, arms and armour – but it was nothing like Pembroke. The queen and her ladies would not have allowed it.
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