The King’s Banquet

by Derek Gorman

“Ok, any good poetry comes from the heart. So William what do you want?” asked the King.

  “Ok... well in that case, how about this?

  The dreams I have I see at night.

  At night, the thoughts are all still and clear.

  Jewels on my head and land beneath my feet.”

  “Not bad,” said the King encouragingly.

  And with that, William fell down into the King’s arms and they both fell onto the bed lying down. They both giggled.

  “You know William,” said the King. “I really am fond of you. I want you to have that land beneath your feet one day. Maybe even a title too.”

  Meanwhile, downstairs back in the banqueting hall. Andrew and Jane were having a serious conversation away from the table.

  “You should have told him,” said Andrew.

  “I can’t, Andrew. You know what the King thinks about witches,” said a worried Jane.

  Jane then continued, “we would have lost our jobs and been sent away.”

  Only a few weeks earlier, while the Melville’s were at home, there was a knock at the door. It was an elderly lady dressed all in black. She asked them whether they had any merks to hand out. Andrew always liked to help the less fortunate and handed her a few merks. She smiled and instead of thanking him, menacingly said, “Andrew, you may think you can buy forgiveness for your sins but betrayal speaks wise words and your family will be struck down. I place this curse on your wife. Your wife. Your wife.” And with that, she gave off the most evil laugh and headed away from the property. Jane was in earshot and heard this before completely freaking out. To make matters worse, the sky had suddenly turned dark, and it rained.

  Andrew tried to reassure Jane, “I think you are overreacting, you know that he really appreciates our long service to his mother and our loyalty to him. Look he even invited us to this event.”

  “This event where we aren’t treated as equals? And he will appreciate our service to his mother. Andrew, he signed her death warrant.” replied Jane sternly.

  “Excellent point.”

  Witches were an enormous problem in Scotland. Andrew knew all about them through King James. The King had a huge fear of witches so Andrew became familiar with the signs.

  There were many of them in the poor infested villages and many ways to identify one, such as women owning a cat. Cats were rare and only appealed to witches. That’s why dogs are a man’s best friend, and why Kings only kept dogs. Anyone with a mole or birthmark on their face was being branded by the devil as having mystical powers. The biggest test was when witches were thrown into the river to drown - if they floated on water then they had mystical powers. If they drowned, then it turned out that they weren’t witches after all.

  The woman who had visited them had a mole on her face, something that Andrew noticed but it didn’t strike an immediate connection as to what it meant. He regretted not shutting the door to her when he noticed but his mind wasn’t quick enough, and now poor Jane was in a state of mental anguish.

  At this point, the King, and William had returned from the bedchamber.

  “An amazing poem, thank-you William,” proclaimed the King.

  They both sat down, as did the Melville’s.

  Next was the turn of the musicians to entertain the guests. They moved from being in the background - they stood at the other end of the table to the King with the silence palpable. After a few moments, they began with a melodic hymn that wouldn’t have been out of place on a summer’s day such as this - although it was now evening. After a few minutes, they received polite applause appropriate for such a refined performance. They then made their way back to the shadows where they would continue being the background music for the event.

  Now was the moment that the servants were due to bring the food out on platters but nothing was happening. Everyone was busily talking amongst themselves but slowly one-by-one they were getting agitated. Lord Maitland started to sweat with beads running down his forehead. The King shot him a look that spoke a thousand words. Lord Maitland immediately hurried downstairs to the Kitchen to find out what was going on. There were a lot of servants and they were standing leaning against walls; some were smoking tobacco. One thing that definitely was not happening was any kind of activity underway to deliver food. Lord Maitland asked his Head of the Household, “What is going on? Why has everyone stopped?”

  The Head of the Household looked sheepish saying, “Lord Maitland, you have been good to me and I will always support you. The problem is the extra servants that we have brought in here to help with tonight’s banquet. They are part of the Royal Household and they have had no kind of pay increase for years and their living conditions have deteriorated. They have all gone on strike until they have better conditions.”

  Lord Sinclair almost fell to the ground. How could they do this at such a time? Although, on one hand he admired their choice of timing. He knew that they knew that they had him exactly where they wanted.

  “What are their demands?” asked Lord Sinclair.

  “They want one day off every two weeks, a separate blanket and a stack of hay so that when they sleep on the floors they are more comfortable, and an extra coin or two in their pay,” said the Head of his Household.

  Lord Sinclair was paralysed unsure what to do. Can he really negotiate changes to the Royal Household without discussing it with the King? He thought it was best to seek his approval. He therefore gestured that he will be back and headed upstairs to the banqueting hall.

  He went to the King and asked for a quick word, crouching down beside him.

  “Sinclair, when is the food? I am peckish and all this excitement has my stomach rumbling like the storms of Scotland that sank the Spanish Armada!” asked the King in a jovial mood.

  “There is a slight issue with that. The servants from your Royal Household who are supporting today have gone on strike seeking better conditions,” explained Lord Sinclair nervously.

  “What?” said the King, his demeanour completely changing to one of indignation of how these lowly servants can question him. “Listen Sinclair, just sort it. I don’t care about the details - just don’t be too generous.”

  And with that Lord Sinclair went back downstairs to begin the negotiations.

  “Ok, here’s the deal. The King isn’t impressed but will provide separate blankets and hay to aid sleeping, but that’s it. And he won’t be held to ransom.”

  The Head of Household listened and gathered the servants in a huddle. They spoke amongst themselves for a couple of minutes. Lord Sinclair struggled to hear exactly what was said. Eventually he made his way back to Lord Sinclair.

  “No,” said the Head of the Household.

  “What do you mean by no?” asked Lord Sinclair who was flabbergasted.

  “They say no. No deal.”

  “What’s their counter proposal?”

  “There is no counter proposal. They want the day off, the comfort and the extra pay.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Well, I’m sorry Sir, but they can’t work.”

  Lord Sinclair mused at this development stroking his chin thoughtfully.

  “Ok, it’s a deal. They can have what they asked for.”

  The rest of the kitchen had heard that and there were cheers amongst the servants. Lord Sinclair headed back upstairs and went to the King.

  “Excellent news, your Majesty,” began Lord Sinclair. “I’ve got them back to work. All it took was a day off every couple of weeks, some blankets and hay for their sleeping arrangements, and an extra coin or two in their pay.”

  “Well done, Sinclair. I knew you’d solve it,” said the King pleased with Lord Sinclair’s negotiation skills.

  Lord Sinclair wiped the sweat away from his brow realising that he had bluffed the King and survived. Time to enjoy the meal.

  The servants then brought the food in on platters. It was quite a sight with servant after servant bringing in silver trays stuffed full of patisseries, fruit, sugar an
d sugared fruit preserves. It was all the rage to have sugar hits as a sign of wealth. Sugar was a rare commodity, and this was an excessive display of wealth.

  The silver trays were placed one between two for people to share - the mess, as it was called was quite generous as it wasn’t unusual for an entire family to share one mess. This was Lord Sinclair’s event, so he was keen to show his wealth to others including the boastful Lord Maitland. So, one mess between two was a statement. The King had his own mess as is standard.

  One of the silver trays had the most prized items, fruit. Pears to be more precise. This was too precious to be contained in the mess so instead had its own silver tray. Fresh fruit couldn’t be preserved and had to be eaten relatively quickly so it was very rare. Pears were the order of the day and a nod to the King, given that Queen Mary’s favourite fruit was pears. This platter was placed closest to the King as a sign of respect. It would have been inappropriate to have the most expensive item at the wrong end of the table.

  The combination of wine that kept flowing and sugar that was being digested created a lively dim of conversation, laughter, and drunken shouting.

  The King chomped on the pears eating six of the eight on the platter before gesturing that others could have it. The Ambassador sprightly leapt from the bench at the other end of the table and took one of the two remaining pears. Nobody had seen him move so quickly for at least 20 years. There was one pear left and with Lord Sinclair on one side of the King and Lord Maitland on the other, it was a battle of wills as to who would take the final remaining pear. Both looked at each other. Lord Maitland stood up and picked up the silver tray, but instead of taking it for himself he passed it over to Lord Sinclair and gestured for him to take it. He did and thanked Lord Maitland for the offer. It was very civil despite their natural jockeying for a position with the King. Lord Sinclair saw the gesture through a negative lens. He deemed it to be a clever move on Lord Maitland’s part to appear humble and collaborative in front of the King. He was sure that if the King wasn’t there that Lord Maitland would have thrown it in the fireplace ahead of handing him that precious pear. Lord Sinclair relaxed and quietened down when he started eating the pear given how succulent and juicy it was.

  As everyone was almost finished and there was little left in the mess, Lord Sinclair motioned to one servant. They immediately blew out all the candles without warning. William then stood up and went to the front of the table in front of everyone, although they could barely see him and he then boomed his voice across the room.

  “May I now invite you to the start of the Masque. Queen Anne of Denmark has arranged for one of the most sought after performers in all of Northern Europe to be present here this evening. He has been in France, Denmark, the German Republic and is now here in Aberdeenshire. May I present The Moore?”

  Polite applause followed. Then in the shadows, a performer appeared with his body gyrating gracefully from left to right, from up to down, from right to left. He or she was a beautifully graceful performer. Gliding like a swan, a ballerina and a poet rolled up into one. Lady Maitland cried as the musician’s accompanying music suited perfectly the Moore’s movements.

  There seemed to be some story to his movements. The music started off sad and his movements echoed the cold beauty of a frozen winter landscape. Later on, his movements were joyful reminiscence of a warm summer’s day. It was as if it was a tale of two seasons.

  The servants then lit a few more of the candles to coincide with the joyful portion of the performance. The movements became more energetic and more frenzied. Like something that nobody had seen before. It was not European. It was violent, it was passionate. Lady Maitland wasn’t crying but was in a state of ecstasy as the crescendo built. The Ambassador had been all over the world but he had seen nothing like it. The poets, William and Mark were transfixed on the performer’s movements. It was a man who was putting on this powerful performance. Lord Sinclair and Lord Maitland were intrigued. Andrew and Jane Melville felt out of place never seeing such entertainment, and Lady Sinclair was stroking her husband’s hands in a way he hadn’t seen for quite a while.

  Eventually, the crescendo reached its natural peak with the music frenzied as well and then all of a sudden the performer jumped ten feet in the air and landed perfectly just as the servants had lit all the candles and the room was at full brightness again. Everyone gasped. The Moore was a man clearly from Africa. Nobody, not even the King, had seen a man from Africa before. His moves were things nobody had seen before. There was a stunned silence in the room but then the King quickly stood and applauded wildly. Everyone followed cheering and whooping. The Moore had been an incredible hit. What a superstar. What a gift that Queen Anne had given to her fiancé. It was a complete honour for everyone in the room to have seen that performance.

  The Moore didn’t hang around for the crowd to cheer too long before he continued into his second performance. This was turning into a very memorable masque. A masque was a theatrical show and entertainment that took place in Courts of the time so the King was well accustomed to seeing many varying quality of masques but this was shaping up to be a very memorable performance.

  The Moore was now on all fours and joined by an exotic indigenous woman. She looked of New World origins. The Moore had a loin cloth and what appeared to be golden chains with the indigenous woman wearing a tight cloth that barely covered her breasts and waist. They were both stunningly gorgeous. The Moore was now pretending to be a lion moving menacingly around the room and table - growling and owning the room as if he were the most powerful thing in there. Everyone had forgotten about the King’s powers during this performance, such was the strength of the movement. The indigenous woman was following him as if she was controlling the chains that kept the lion from escaping but when she moved, the men’s eyes were drawn to her. The Moore paused at Lady Maitland and looked at her. Fear and excitement at the same time was all over her face. He pawed her. Her joy seemed to increase. Then without warning, the Moore ran away off the table and out of the room with the indigenous woman close behind him.

  The performance was over. The room stood applauding wildly, cheering, gasping. It was a gift from Queen Anne that nobody would forget.

  “I think I might need to lie down after that,” bellowed the King.

  The Moore then came back into the room normally dressed. Everyone immediately quietened to see what would happen next. He stood at the end of the table and began.

  “Blessed are all who fear the Lord, who walk in his ways. You will eat the fruit of your labour; blessings and prosperity will be yours. Your wife will be like a fruitful vine within your house; your sons will be like olive shoots around your table. Thus is the man blessed who fears the Lord.”

  He had just quoted Psalm 128.

  “You must eat with us, sit here next to Lady Maitland,” instructed the King.

  This was unusual but everyone was excited to be joined by the Moore. Lord Sinclair had a smirk on his face. Everyone had seen how much Lady Maitland had enjoyed the performance so him being sat next to her was sure to agitate Lord Maitland.

  But before the Moore could take a seat, he had one last thing to do. He disappeared for a moment and then came back gracefully holding the centrepiece for dinner. It was an enlarged model of a ship but it was stuffed with different fish; herring, flounders, whiting, oysters, whelks, crabs, and clams. It was an extravaganza of fish - all seasoned with sugar. This really was a luxury meal. After gliding across the room and placing the centrepiece at the middle of the table, the Moore then sat down next to Lady Maitland, which made her giggle.

  Servants brought the rest of the meal. Besides fish, there were messes full of salads, leeks, onions, radishes, cabbage, lettuce, chives, boiled carrots, flowers, and herbs. They were all in oil with vinegar and a sugar dressing.

  Everybody ate after the King took his first bite, and the meal was being pleasantly enjoyed by all. It was just incredibly sweet which led Andrew to ask, “what’s with all th
is sugar?”

  “Andrew, my boy, you don’t realise do you?” replied Lord Sinclair.

  “No, I’m afraid not,”

  “Well, sugar as I’m sure you are aware is a very expensive ingredient. It means that only the wealthy can afford it. It is only used for occasions such as this. Also, this is all the rage in Italy now. It’s the Italian way to drape everything in sugar. Yes, there is a lot of French influence here but sometimes we like to extend as far as Venice!” replied Lord Sinclair.

  Lord Sinclair then picked up one quaiche containing sweet wine that was poured as a meal accompaniment. He clinked it and said, “You see this Andrew? This is Venetian. A Venetian sweet wine, Italian influenced meal. We are the global elite.”

  And with that he got back to enjoying the meal. It seemed to make sense to Andrew, so he too got back to chomping the crab that lay on his mess.

  The meal went on for quite some time as all the guests gorged on the fresh cuts of fish. Spirits were in good stead helping by the sugar and sweet wine.

  Eventually, all the messes were empty. The silver platter was only a distant memory of what it contained. The guests dispersed from the table and moved to different areas of the banqueting hall.

  Lord Sinclair, Lord Maitland, and the Ambassador were deep in conversation at one end.

  “I still can’t believe that the King forced us into financing this English Armada,” said an exasperated Lord Maitland.

  “Agreed. I look at the Ambassador when he told us to invest in Muscovy shares and how much money we made,” said Lord Sinclair whilst putting a friendly arm around the Ambassador, “and then I look at the worthless pieces of paper we have from our investment in the English Armada Joint Stock Company and despair.”

  “I have an idea,” said Lord Maitland. “Do you have your shares somewhere here?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Bring them to me.”

  And with that Lord Sinclair disappeared off to his study on the top floor. He had to rummage around quite a few papers before he found it. There it was, the English Armada Joint Stock Company. A nice ship motif was watermarked in the background with a Royal seal on the front. It looked quite regal. He headed back downstairs and handed it to Lord Maitland.