Exile (5 page)

“I have heard they eat awful things like insects and sheep's eyeballs,” Carmina told me. I was sure that wasn't true because Masou would have said— and with great relish. But I imagine our food is very different nonetheless. And Banoo Yasmine has lost all her family. I remember I did not care to eat for many days when my dear mother died.

After only two hours, we were hustled away to make the long trek to the Banqueting House, and the tables were cleared for dancing. In the centre of the Banqueting House stood a wonderful marchpane of the Palace of Placentia itself. It had been placed on a trestle table, which was covered in silks and strewn with ivy. The Banoo was delighted with the model. She and the Queen spent ages marvelling over it while the rest of us waited for a helping. Her Majesty insisted on pointing out where we were now and where the Banoo was sleeping and even where Henri's kennel is!

At last it was chopped up. I got a good chunk of one of the towers by the Tilting Yard. I was glad that old King Henry had had them built so tall. I wondered if I could take some for Ellie but I had nowhere to hide it and I dared not spoil my gown by shoving it up a sleeve.

Suddenly a trumpeter blasted a fanfare in my ear and I nearly choked. It was time for the dancing. I would have liked to linger in the Banqueting House and tried a bit of the chapel, but everyone was following the Queen back into the Great Hall so I had to go. The golden sands had been rolled away and benches and chairs had been set around the edge of
the hall. The musicians in the gallery were striking up a pavane.

Her Majesty turned to Banoo Yasmine and smiled. “I hope you will indulge my love of dancing.”

The Banoo nodded graciously. She did not have any choice, really. Even if she hated the idea she had to agree with the Queen of England!

“Do join us,” the Queen continued. “And have no fear that you do not know the steps, for my dear, loyal Christopher Hatton will be your partner, and he is the finest dancer at Court.”

Mr. Hatton stepped forwards and offered the Banoo his arm. Her Majesty was being most generous. Mr. Hatton is without doubt the finest dancer at Court and the Queen usually dances with him herself. Then I saw that the Queen was to be partnered by her especial favourite, Sir Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester. Perhaps not as generous as I had thought.

“Shall we have this dance, young Lady Grace?” Sir George Tutbury bowed in front of me. It was brave of him to offer. He surely must have heard that it was safer to dance with a donkey than with me! But he was a friend of my father and is always kind to me.

We walked out to join the lines of dancers. The pavane is slow and stately. I am not very stately, but I certainly can be slow! I had to concentrate hard so as not to tread on my partner's feet, but every now and then I looked over to see how the Banoo was faring. Mr. Hatton seemed delighted with his beautiful partner, who was certainly dancing better than me. She must have been practising! The pavane ended and Sir George bowed to me and made his escape. I was pleased to see he was not limping—well, not much.

The musicians now began to play an almain. I was just wondering if I could slip back to the Banqueting House and get some more marchpane, when I noticed Ellie hovering in a doorway. She wasn't meant to be there. I slipped round the dancers to join her, thinking that I would talk loudly about laundry if anyone questioned her presence.

“I came to see Bandy Yasmine. Is that her?” she asked me, pointing at the Banoo, who was making an arch with Mr. Hatton for the others to pass beneath.

“That is Banoo Yasmine!” I laughed. “What do you think of her beautiful clothes?”

“I reckon they'd dry easy,” Ellie said. Poor Ellie. She works all day and half the night and just sees everything as laundry. “What's that red thing hanging on her brow? It looks like a turnip.”

“That is the Heart of Kings,” I laughed. “It's her famous ruby.”

Ellie quickly put her hand over her mouth. “I didn't say that!” she muttered. “I never called it a turnip!”

“What's the matter?” I asked.

“I'll be cursed,” croaked Ellie, glancing round nervously. “I never meant to speak ill of it, did I, Grace? You know that. It's a very beautiful ruby. I don't want no curse!”

“Nothing will happen to you, Ellie!” I assured her. “I think it looks like a turnip, too.”

But Ellie turned on her heels and ran off as if a fiend from hell were after her. Poor Ellie, she is so superstitious! It was a good thing she didn't see what happened next or she would indeed have been convinced that she was right. Lady Sarah was just passing by on the arm of her partner. As she did, a servant stumbled right in front of her and dropped the full pitcher of wine he was carrying.

I was certain that Lady Sarah was going to be drenched, but before anyone could move, one of Banoo Yasmine's pages sprang forwards and caught the pitcher in mid-air. And not a drop of wine was spilt! There were gasps of amazement from everyone around, and the page handed the pitcher back to the
terrified servant as if nothing had happened. All this took place on the very spot where Ellie had been standing. I decided not to tell her about it. She'd have been certain that the wine was meant to drench her because she had called the Heart of Kings a turnip.

Although Lady Sarah was completely dry and totally unharmed, it seemed that she had to lean heavily on her escort. He did not appear to mind, however, and was most attentive. Then she turned to the page. “I am most grateful to you, sir,” she said in a weak voice. “May I know the name of my gallant rescuer?”

The page bowed low before her. “I am Sharokh of Sharakand, O gracious lady,” he said, “and ever your humble servant.” His accent was like Masou's but much stronger. He gazed at her with large, soulful eyes. I have seen that look many times before. Courtiers are always falling in love with Lady Sarah and staring at her like idiots—it is just the way that Henri stares at his favourite bone. Poor Sharokh! Lady Sarah might enjoy his attentions but she would never consider him as a suitor. He is not highborn enough.

Suddenly there was a loud scraping noise and Lady Sarah was forgotten as we all turned to see what
had caused it. The drapes at the end of the hall had been pulled apart and a magnificent wooden tower was appearing, pulled along on squeaky wheels by two of Mr. Somers's troupe. Now I knew what the carpenters and joiners had been up to!

The Queen and the Banoo were already seated where they would have the best view. We hastened to the benches placed round the edges of the hall.

The tower had been painted to look like a turreted castle. The audience gazed upwards as Mr. Will Somers himself appeared at the top. “Gracious Majesty and members of her illustrious Court,” he proclaimed, bowing low. “Banoo Yasmine and her most loyal servants, hearken to my tale.” Some strange haunting pipe music drifted down from the musicians' gallery. “We take you to the land of Sharakand,” Mr. Somers went on, flinging his arms wide to indicate the wondrous scene around us. “A land of enchantment, of golden sands and brilliant sun. A land where camels roam and flocks of bright birds fill the skies. A land where the subjects are loyal and true.” With that a curtain opened at the bottom of the tower. “And now I present the men of Sharakand.”

Out sprang four tumblers, dressed in long, loose hose and short jerkins to look like men of
Sharakand. They turned somersaults around the floor in a whirl, making the ladies gasp. Then, as a long drum roll began, they leaped into the air and landed with one leg forwards and one leg back as if they'd been split in half. They were all facing the tower, their arms outstretched towards the curtain. And at that a fabulous figure appeared, dressed in a gold silk tunic and long hose. The figure wore a mask, so I had no idea who it was.

“Here before you is the Spirit of Sharakand,” cried Mr. Somers. “The noble spirit who strives only for the good of the true king and his subjects.”

I guessed this was meant to be the Banoo, but they had named it Spirit, for it would be disrespectful for one of the troupe to represent her in person. The Spirit walked proudly round the hall and the “men of Sharakand” leaped up and followed. They bowed deeply to the Queen and Banoo Yasmine. Then the Spirit came over to where I was sitting. It looked hard at me, which was quite frightening since there was no expression on the masked face. At least it would have been frightening if I had not caught sight of one eye winking at me through the mask. Now I recognised the Spirit of Sharakand—it was Masou!

The Spirit beckoned towards the curtain and out
bounced a little figure on all fours. It was covered in black fur, with painted whiskers, a pair of very perky ears, and a big smile on its face. I recognised this player straight away. It was young Gypsy Pete and he was playing the Banoo's panther. Gypsy Pete has not been with the troupe long. I thought it kind of Mr. Somers to find him a part. And he did it well. He prowled around the floor until he came to the Queen. Then he stretched like a cat with his head bowed down and his bottom in the air. The Queen reached forwards to scratch him between his furry ears and everyone laughed as loud purring noises could be heard. With that the panther bounded to the middle of the floor, sat down, and pretended to clean himself! Masou nudged him with his foot and he immediately sat up and tried to look noble.

It was hard to tear my eyes away from the funny little creature, but now more tumblers were running in through the doors of the Great Hall. They were dressed as soldiers and wore shiny breastplates and helmets.

“The King of Sharakand is cruelly murdered and a new king takes his place,” declaimed Will Somers from the top of the tower.

There was a fierce battle between the men of Sharakand and the soldiers. Then the soldiers
surrounded the Spirit, who backed away against the tower.

It looked as if it was the end for the Spirit. However, he suddenly ran at one of the soldiers, who was crouched menacingly in front of him. He put one foot lightly on the soldier's knee, the other on his shoulder, and, with an extraordinary backwards somersault, flung himself up at the tower. A moment later he was clinging to the sill of the window, where a soldier immediately appeared with his sword drawn.

But the Spirit was too quick for him. He swung his feet up above his head, knocking the soldier away and landing to stand there in his place. We all clapped. The little panther clapped, too, until he remembered himself and pretended he was scratching his ear.

The Spirit climbed up on to the windowsill, grabbed a trailing ivy, and started climbing towards the very top of the tower. I found my heart was beating fast. The tower was very high and I had never seen Masou do anything like this before. He reached out a hand to pull himself over the parapet, but missed and began to fall! The audience gasped with horror, but we had not seen that he had secretly anchored one foot round the creeper. Instead of
crashing to the ground, he hung upside down with his arms outstretched. I knew he was waiting for applause, and he was not disappointed. There was a great burst of clapping as he twisted nimbly upright again and leaped onto the top of the tower.

“But the Spirit of Sharakand is not safe yet!” declared Mr. Somers. “More dangers await!”

Flames were licking their way up the tower! Well, they were really bits of sparkling red cloth, pulled up on thread by someone who must have been hidden on the battlements, but they looked most real. Drums began to beat, faster and faster as the flames grew higher.

The Spirit wailed and wrung his hands in terror.

“It seems that all is lost!” cried Mr. Somers.

But the spirit leaped up to the tower's parapet. He raised his arms high above his head and it looked as if he had grown wings, for he was now wearing a cloak of the most beautiful peacock feathers. Suddenly the drums stopped. I held my breath.

I could scarcely believe what happened next—the Spirit leaped from the tower! For a moment he seemed to fly like a huge bird. And then he was falling. I let out a shriek. Masou was going to be killed. No one could fall from that height and live! And then, just as I thought his brains would be
dashed out on the flagstones, he was caught in a golden cloth held by the other members of the troupe. They tossed him back up into the air, where he turned two somersaults and landed on his feet.

For a moment there was a shocked silence. Then the Great Hall erupted with cheers and stamping of feet. Masou ran over and prostrated himself in front of the Banoo and the Queen. I was feeling embarrassed at my terrified shriek, delighted by the Spirit's performance, and very cross with Masou all in one go. This time he has gone too far. He risked his life trying to impress the Banoo and when I see him next I am going to give him a piece of my mind!

Gypsy Pete the panther skidded over and jumped on Masou's back, pretending to lick him. Banoo Yasmine was obviously enchanted with the little panther. Poor Masou! After all his efforts, it was Gypsy Pete who won the Banoo's heart.

THE SEVENTEENTH DAY OF JANUARY,
IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1570

I've suddenly realised that the fire is giving no heat at all and I am frozen to the core, so I have come under my bedclothes. I still have much to write about last night, but my fingers are as cold as ice and I fear they will drop off.