Feud (3 page)

There were a couple of carts just coming into the Lesser Courtyard. People were rushing about and the Master of the Revels arrived looking pompous in his velvet gown with his white wand of office, to talk to the handsome middle-aged man sitting on the lead cart. Both carts seemed to be full of brightly coloured cloth and I wondered what on earth they were come for, but then I remembered the play. I would have stayed to watch the players prepare but I had promised Masou I would see him as soon as I could and walking the dogs gave me the perfect opportunity to meet with him and Ellie.

I went through the orchard, towards the New Buildings. Because the village of Epsom is too small to take everyone connected with Court, extra housing has been built. There are still not enough chambers for everyone. Some people have to take haylofts and attics in the village, others just camp wherever they can. The richest lords have chambers near the Queen or stay at houses they have built nearby. It's always a problem finding lodging space for everybody who wants to come to Court and make their fortune by catching the Queen's eye. All the young
men complain about how expensive it is, and how they have to share rooms and servants, but still they come.

At the furthest end of the orchard, the wall has tumbled down and it is easy to climb over. I did so, with the dogs yapping excitedly and lifting their legs against the stones, and got into the nearest coppice. The wood will not be cut for another year or two, so it is nice and thick with trees.

Masou was waiting for me in the den he and Ellie have made, by curving the withies over and tying them at the tops and then covering them with dry branches. It is quite hard to see in from the outside, except that Masou's suit of coloured patches shows a little through the branches.

“Ellie will be along in a moment, only Her Majesty's silk-woman asked her to help with some partlets and a veil,” said Masou. “And I, who am merely the best tumbler in Mr. Somers' troupe, am not at all important and may be kept waiting by players and their stupid carts!”

He usually has a smile on his face when he says something like that, so I was surprised to see he was really quite cross.

“Lord, Masou, what's to do?” I asked.

“Hmf!” said he. “Players, players, nought but
players. They have been here in the village two days awaiting their scenery, for they said they cannot play without it—as if we had none!”

Aha, I thought, that is why we did not know of them before—they were not yet properly come to Court.

Masou was still grumbling. “They lost two axles in a pothole on the road from London, and had to have them mended, but they finally came today, alas. And the way they strut about as if they were Pashas … Ptah!” And he spat on the ground in disgust.

And so that was why the two carts were coming into the Lesser Courtyard.

I wanted to experiment some more with my lovely graphite pens, so I settled down with my daybooke on my knees and started to draw Masou. It was very difficult to limn him, especially as he would not stay still. He was tossing red and green leather balls up and about his head, and I drew them, too, like a halo for an old saint in a church window. It was hard to get the shine on his cheek, but one of the good things about graphite is that you can smudge it with your finger, so at last I had something I thought was nearly good.

Masou looked. He said something in his own
language and grinned. “Wonderful,” he translated for me. “Though my father told me that a true Mussulman never makes pictures of living things, for that is God's privilege.”

“What do the kings decorate their palaces with, then?” I asked curiously.

“Our writing—which is graceful and beautiful, like the wind patterns in the sand. I have seen whole walls covered in it.”

He took one of the graphite sticks and carefully drew a sort of curly shape on the paper. You could tell it was writing, even if there was no way of making sense of it. He told me it was his name—and then he rubbed it out with his finger and some spit, so no one could make a charm out of it and enchant him.

We heard singing coming through the thick bushes, and suddenly Ellie pushed her way into the bower, bright-eyed and happy. “Now then, Masou,” she said, “are you still as snippy as you was this morning at the buttery?”

Masou scowled and sniffed loudly.

“Oops, I shouldn't 'ave reminded him,” said Ellie with a grin, elbowing me painfully. “He's jealous.”

I sighed because Masou was now looking as sour as before I did his picture.

“I see no good reason why a performance we have been practising for two weeks should be cancelled, because some starveling, pig-eating mummers catch the eye of the Master of the Revels and so are hired to make exhibition of their stupidity!” Masou declared, very haughty.

“That's a good likeness of 'im,” interrupted Ellie, catching sight of my limning. “'Cept for the nose, o' course.”

Masou stopped his speech about the terrible badness of the players, looked confused, and rubbed his nose. “Why? What's wrong with it?” he demanded.

Ellie munched up the sugared almonds that I'd brought her and dug me in the ribs again with her sharp elbow. “It is a pity about 'is nose, ain't it?” she said to me, winking.

“Yes, it is,” I agreed, looking as serious as I could. “It's terrible.”

“Dunno what could of 'appened to do that to it,” Ellie went on, shaking her head. “Must be them players …”

“What?” demanded Masou, crossing his eyes in an effort to look at his nose.

“Yes,” I sighed, sucking the last sugared almond. “I think the players did the damage.”

“What damage?”
Masou said, looking annoyed and
worried at the same time. “Is there a pimple? What have they done?”

“Put your nose out of joint, o' course, you great ninny!” Ellie shrieked, and started laughing. And so did I, I'm afraid, because Masou looked so cross. “Your nose is so out of joint it's round the other side of your head!”

“Honestly,” I said, as Masou started throwing leaves and bits of earth at us. “Aren't you pleased to get a night off and the chance to watch a new play?”

“I heard it's very good,” said Ellie. “Susannah at the laundry said she saw it at the Bel Savage Inn, near Lud Gate, last week and it's wonderful. And as for that Richard Fitzgrey …”

“Who?” asked Masou and I together.

Ellie leaned in, grinning with mischief. “Oh, he'll put all your delicate Maids of Honour in a fluster, all right. 'Course he's really called Dickon Greyson, but 'e likes to fancy 'e's secretly a lord's son,” and she winked, “so 'e calls 'isself Richard Fitzgrey.”

Masou and I looked at each other. I shook my head. “I don't think a poor travelling player will make much progress with Lady Sarah or Lady Jane,” I said. “They know they've got to marry rich nobles.”

Ellie wagged a finger at me. “You wait,” she said.
“You'll see.” And with that, she jumped up. “Come on, I'll show you. They're setting up in the Great Hall right now,” she said eagerly.

Masou sniffed. “I've seen all I need to,” he snapped. “We shall soon see how they compare with skilled acrobats.”

So Ellie and I left him there and climbed back over the wall. It took a while to round up the dogs, who had been trying to catch rabbits and were all covered with mud, but at last we had them leashed. I gave Ellie the leashes, so I could say we were taking the dogs to the laundry courtyard to wash them down, and give her a good reason to be with me.

We passed by the back steps to the Great Hall in the Lesser Courtyard and there were the players unloading one of the carts, carrying poles and bundles of coloured cloth into the hall. One of them was standing on the cart in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, shouting orders at two boys who were struggling with a huge bundle.

Ellie nodded. “There 'e is,” she whispered. “Richard Fitzgrey hisself.”

I looked at him. Well, he is tall and has that sort of triangular shape all the gentlemen at Court either have, or try to fashion by having the shoulders of
their doublets padded. He has a long jaw, bright blue eyes, and black hair cut long about his ears.

Then I noticed something soppy about Ellie's expression. “Isn't he gorgeous?” she said.

“Well, I suppose he's all right,” I admitted reluctantly. His flashing blue eyes were certainly attractive. But he did look rather big-headed.

Ellie elbowed me again. “Oh, you!” she giggled. “Don't 'e tickle your fancy even a little?”

And then I saw a funny thing. Lady Sarah and Penelope were crossing the courtyard together, arm in arm. I could tell that Sarah had pulled her stomacher down as far as she could, and her hair was doing that thing where it's pinned up perfectly under her little green hat but a few red ringlets seem to be falling down. It takes her ages and ages in front of the mirror to make her hair do that and somehow it makes young gentlemen's brains go soggy—at least, it seems to when Lady Sarah does it. She was smiling and laughing at something Penelope was saying.

The unloading stopped. The two boys stood staring with the enormous bundle of cloth in their arms, and Richard Fitzgrey vaulted straight down from the cart and swept off his hat to the ladies, in the most elegant, courtly bow you can imagine.

Both Sarah and Penelope seemed to think this was terribly witty and giggled as they walked past.

Then all of a sudden, Lady Jane appeared holding a posy of crocuses and swaying elegantly as she walked in the opposite direction. She was wearing her most fashionable Parisian gown, and pretending to ignore Richard completely—though I saw her watching him out of the corner of her eye. And then, good heavens, there was Lettice Knollys, Penelope's pretty aunt, casually strolling along, followed by two of Her Majesty's lady Chamberers!

From being empty, the courtyard was suddenly full of women—which was quite a coincidence, because there aren't that many women at Court. Most of the people at Court are men. And I noticed that none of them seemed to find the players' scenery being unloaded anything like as fascinating as the ladies did.

Ellie was very proper now, standing behind me, and stopping the muddy dogs from going over and lifting their legs on the cart wheels. But she did look up at one of the upper windows.

I followed the line of her gaze, and there was Mrs. Champernowne, shaking out a napkin from an upstairs window. What could she be doing there?
Was she … ? Could she be … ? Surely she was too old!

Richard Fitzgrey spotted her and waved cheekily and I swear she went bright red as she accidentally dropped the napkin. I nearly exploded with laughter.

Richard jumped back onto the cart and started directing the others again—though I must say, if he was so strong and clever, why wasn't he carrying some of the heavy things himself ?

I led on, with Ellie sneaking quick glances at Richard over her shoulder as we went. We took the dogs round the back to the laundry courtyard, where there's a pump, and we managed to get them washed down a bit. Then I took them inside and gave them to the Chamberer who usually feeds them.

I was just hurrying back to my chamber when Mrs. Champernowne caught me.

“Goodness gracious! What have you been up to, Lady Grace?” she spluttered. “Your kirtle is soaked through, look you.”

“I got splashed a little while we were cleaning the dogs after their walk,” I said demurely. “Didn't you see how muddy they were when you were shaking your napkin out of the window?”

Mrs. Champernowne looked flustered. “Well, get
on with you and change,” she said. “What are you doing dripping and drizzling all over the tiles?”

I'm sure I can't see what all the fuss is over Richard Fitzgrey. And now Mary Shelton wants to know why I'm scribbling again instead of changing into my best gown. She says even Carmina is getting up to see the play, because she heard from Penelope how well-looking that player is.
Honestly!

And now Fran is chivvying me, too, and saying I have not brushed my hair, when I did it just this morning!

When I went down with the other Maids for the play, I saw that all the long tables had been cleared from the Great Hall, and the benches set in rows so we could sit and watch the players on the stage they had built. Mary Shelton came down with Carmina leaning on her arm. She was looking concerned, because Carmina was as white as a sheet and very tired.

Then Lady Jane and Lady Sarah appeared, ignoring each other haughtily. Jane was in her finest
French-style kirtle, a pale kind of blue satin damask, and Sarah in a wonderful new gown of forest green velvet, trimmed with gold braid, her hair tumbling down around her ears. I don't know why she complains so much about the Queen's stays being tight, for she has her own so tight it is a wonder she does not pop out the top. The two of them sat down, with Penelope between them. She looked like a little brown mouse in her tawny velvet.

Lady Jane rolled her eyes at me and smiled in that annoyingly superior way she has. “Did you know that with you in your rose velvet and Carmina in crimson, your gowns are clashing terribly?” she said to me. “Why not have Lady Sarah sit beside you so her hair can join the fun?”

Lady Sarah tossed her hair so the ringlets bounced. “At least mine is the same colour as the Queen's,” she snipped, and Lady Jane looked daggers at her.

Meanwhile the Scottish Ambassadors arrived and sat in a row, looking like pints of vinegar, they were so sour with disapproval at the heathen mumming, which is what they call playing.

The Queen arrived last of all, and sat on her throne, which had been turned about so she could
see the dais. Everybody knelt until she waved at us to sit down. Then the trumpets sounded and the players bounded onto the stage to bow and let the prologue begin. You might have thought there were a lot of them, but in fact there were just two middle-aged men, Richard Fitzgrey, three younger men, and three boys who played all the parts between them.

The play was long and complicated, all about two families who hate each other. There's a huge massacre of one family by the other. Only one young man is left—wounded but alive. The princess of the enemy family finds him, takes him in, and nurses him without knowing who he is. Of course she falls in love with him, but then he realises that he's in the heart of his enemy's castle. So he disguises himself as a servant and puts poison in the wine. Only, by now, he's in love with the beauteous princess, and she's the one who goes to drink the poisoned wine! So the young man drinks it himself, and then declares his love in a very, very long speech, before dying tragically.