The Betrayal (2 page)

‘I hope Her Grace is not unwell – it’s not clear why they didn’t move on the first day,’ I said to the farmer.

‘’Tis probably nothing but the whims of majesty,’ the farmer said. His nut-brown face creased in an indulgent smile. ‘Her Grace looks out of the window and decides it’s a little too chill, so Her Grace decides to leave it another day or so before she travels.’

I smiled. ‘The poor Lord Chamberlain will be near-fainting with despair.’

‘Why will he?’ Beth asked.

‘Why? Because he will have arranged long ago for the queen’s refreshment stops and her comfort breaks, and instructed the towns along the way to tidy their
streets and form their children into choirs of angels to sing to her as she goes. And all these tasks would need messengers sent to change their arrangements at the last moment.’

‘Aye,’ the farmer said. ‘The money that the nobility spend to entertain her on her progresses! I heard that an overnight stop at the Lord Taverner’s house last year cost him a year’s income.’

I nodded. ‘And I’ve heard of a great house built in anticipation of a royal visit which never happened! But today they hope to make it to London before nightfall, do they not?’

He nodded, then gave a shiver and rubbed his calloused hands together. ‘Though if they are much later in starting ’twill be midnight afore they bed down.’

‘Have you ever been there – to London?’ I ventured.

‘Me? Been in London?’ he asked, then spat on the ground. ‘No, I have not, and I take pleasure in saying so.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Aye. They say ’tis a wicked and corrupt place, where folk would stab each other for a penny, and a man may be forced to beg on the streets for his daily bread.’

‘I have heard the very opposite!’ I said, laughing. ‘I have heard that London is like a great storehouse of things to be enjoyed; of taverns where the wine flows all night, of lavish suppers and of merrymaking, of theatres and dancing.’

‘Mayhap. If you’ve got the money and your face fits,’ said the farmer. ‘But what would there be in London for the likes of me?’

‘I think I can hear something!’ Beth said suddenly, and she ran off to a bend in the roadway and was joined there by her sister.

‘I can see some horses,’ Merryl called, jumping up and down on the spot.

‘And noise! I can hear cheering!’ Beth shouted back to me.

‘They’re coming at last!’ came several voices from the crowd. ‘The queen is on her way!’

‘God be praised,’ said the farmer, ‘for my toes are frozen past redemption.’

More than an hour later the procession was still going past us. We’d seen dozens of horses, scores of litters and I cannot tell exactly how many laden carts but ’twas a great number, for Merryl counted to over one hundred of these before she got muddled. It was only right and proper that there were many and varied conveyances, of course, for these carried the trappings of majesty and ensured that wherever Her Grace went she would be surrounded by the splendour necessary for the greatest sovereign ruling over the mightiest nation in the world.

We’d noted the humbler palace staff pass by on foot, and seen, too, the highest royal servitors: the maids of honour and the ladies of the bedchamber,
followed by the gentlemen of the Court – titled nobles all, their insignia glittering across their manly chests, their hat plumes waving and stirrups a-jangling as they rode their magnificent horses. As yet, however, there had been no sign of Gloriana.

I looked down the lane, craning my neck to see into the distance, eyes searching in vain for her white palfrey with its jewelled saddle and bridle. She must be here somewhere, for it was unthinkable that the Court would leave without her. Could she be masquerading? I wondered. Might she have gone past us dressed in a lowly servant’s garb, playing some sort of game which would prolong the seasonal fun? I knew that masquerading was something that the Court – and Tomas especially – enjoyed very much, for he’d often caught me out in one of his jests. But surely, I thought, Her Grace wouldn’t hide herself away on a journey to London, for she knew her subjects would be lining the streets and she loved being seen by them, receiving their shouts and acclaim and returning their greetings.

Some ten carts from the royal kitchens went by: a welter of roasting spits, kitchenware, pots and pans, tankards and gilt plate, and then there was a lengthy pause in proceedings. After this the cry went up, ‘The jesters are come!’ and I excitedly set my side curls to rights under my hood and hoped that my nose wasn’t too red nor my cheeks too pinched with cold, for now I would see Tomas, and he would see me.

‘Now comes Tom-fool!’ Merryl shouted excitedly
(for, being the queen’s fool, this was the name by which he was usually known).

The decorated cart carrying the jesters trundled slowly towards us. It held the Greens, a family of five, who each had their own particular skill. They smiled broadly and acknowledged the shouts of the crowd but, despite being entreated, did not undertake any juggling or clowning. On the cart beside them were two monkeys and the queen’s dwarf, Thomasina, who was much loved by everyone and thus got a tremendous cheer and calls of ‘Greetings to the little lady!’ Of Tomas, however, there was no sign.

‘Where’s Tom-fool?’ Merryl cried, disappointed, for she and Beth were very fond of him and had met him several times when he’d come a-visiting Dr Dee’s house with Her Grace.

I stared after the cart. ‘I don’t know,’ I said, perplexed. Perhaps he’d gone by us in one of his disguises … but surely he wouldn’t pass without a wink or a wave to me? Perhaps he had some malady? But then I’d seen him only a few days before, when he’d kissed me goodbye and told me that he’d see me soon in London, for, to my great excitement, Dr Dee and his household were due to follow the Court and take lodgings close to Whitehall.

Another pause ensued, then a large and sumptuous litter came by, borne aloft by four gentlemen-at-arms, one marching at each corner. The litter was hung with purple velvet curtains, shut tight, and bore the royal
insignia and shield.

The crowd around us fell silent and the farmer and I exchanged puzzled looks.

‘Three cheers for Her Majesty!’ he shouted after a moment’s hesitation, and the people around us responded with cheers and applause.

As these fell away everyone fixed their gaze upon the curtains, confident that they’d open and a royal hand would appear and wave in acknowledgement. It did not, however, and the litter proceeded silently on its way, leaving a puzzled crowd in its wake.

Why had Her Grace not acknowledged the shouts when she loved showing her glittering self to her people? Was she really inside, or were the gentlemen carrying an empty litter? Did she – perish the thought – have the smallpox again and, being disfigured, not wish to be seen? These questions, and many others, were murmured, discussed and answered piecemeal as more and more carts came by.

‘But now comes Tom-fool on a horse!’ Beth cried suddenly, pointing. ‘At least … I think it is him,’ she added with some uncertainty.

I stared where she was pointing. Over the months that I’d been working as a nursemaid in the Dee household, I’d seen Tomas in various disguises, a grinning cat one day, a Harlequin or Jack Frost the next. These disguises, he’d explained to me, were not only part of his role as fool in the royal household, but also meant that his face was not recognised when he was going
about his other duty: that of working for Sir Francis Walsingham, that nobleman known as the queen’s spymaster. It was in this role that I’d come to know him best, for unbeknown to anyone bar my friend Isabelle, I’d been asked to assist in simple little spying tasks which a girl of my station might quite naturally undertake: listening at doors, following a certain person, making discreet enquiries about this or that. I very much enjoyed doing these things, for they were all in the service of our lady queen. Thinking on this, I touched the little coin I wore at my throat. It bore the queen’s image and though it was but a humble and tawdry thing (which Tomas oft teased me about), such was my devotion and loyalty to Her Grace that I’d worn it since I was a small child.

Now I strained to see if it
was
Tomas trotting towards us. The rider had a pretty falcon hawk chained to his wrist and was clad in a hunting jerkin of worn brown leather, the hood of which was pulled well across his face. This guarded against a sharp beak nipping his cheeks and might also, perhaps, prevent onlookers from getting too close a view of his face.

The glance of the youth on the horse fell on me, and I smiled. It
was
Tomas, I was sure of it, for even though his face was shaded I could see his grey eyes flickering silver in the half-light. I waved.

‘Tomas!’ the girls called. Then, ‘Tom-fool!’

I wondered afterwards whether or not he’d intended to stop anyway, but just at that moment one of the
kitchen carts ahead rolled into a large rut in the road. There was a creak and a crack and its wheel came off, thus causing the cart to be thrown heavily to one side and the whole procession behind it to come to a halt. Seeing this, Tomas must have thought it an opportune moment to fly the falcon. He released its chain and flung it high into the air, where it hung a moment, then began to circle effortlessly above us.

‘Do get down and speak to us, Tom-fool!’ Merryl said. ‘We have been waiting an awfully long time.’

Tomas smiled at them. And at me, I like to think. He glanced back and I saw, for the first time, that his horse’s bridle bore a long cord, which led in turn to the bridle of the small white pony behind him. A girl was seated on this pony, a girl with glossy dark hair spread like an overcape across her wool gown of Tudor green. She wore a pink feathered cap on her head and I caught a glimpse of pink velvet boots under her gown.

I have heard before of love at first sight, and believe it possible. If one believes this, then surely the opposite can be true: that you mislike someone at first sight. Was it just her appearance? I wondered afterwards. Perhaps if she’d been a plain girl, a dumpy creature with a face like a penny loaf and hair as dry and straggled as a horse’s mane, I might have liked her better. As it was, she was very pretty and I did not. And I especially did not like the cord which tethered her to Tomas.

‘We have here a new lady-in-waiting and a nervous
rider,’ Tomas said, seeing my glance. He smiled at the girl. ‘We will stay here just a moment.’

‘’Tis of no matter,’ the young lady said, ‘for it’s a relief to me when my pony stops moving.’ She laughed and swung back her hair. ‘I am more used to being driven in a carriage, but swear I would rather walk to Whitehall any day than ride about on this beastie!’

I forced my cold face into what might pass for a smile, but need not have bothered because she wasn’t looking at
me
, a mere nursery maid; her gestures and glances were all for Tomas. My mind began to chase a hundred different questions: was she at Court to find a rich husband? Where had she come from? Who was her sponsor? Would she – oh, lucky girl! – become one of those chosen confidantes of the queen? Would she settle down at Court or not? Perhaps she would miss her mother and ask to go home again.

‘Tom-fool!’ Merryl said. ‘Will you do us some tricks?’

Tomas shook his head. ‘Today, my children, I’m not Tom-fool.’ He beckoned them close and added in a whisper, ‘Today you see me as one of the queen’s hawkmeisters.’

‘Then will you bring your bird down to see us?’ Beth asked.

He nodded. ‘In one moment.’ He looked towards me. ‘And how do you fare, Mistress Lucy?’

I smiled as carefree as could be. ‘I do very well, and thank you. Though we are frozen to our bones from
waiting here so long.’ I dropped my voice, ‘But can you tell me why Her Grace has gone by huddled inside her litter and not shown herself to the crowd, for we are all very concerned.’

He shrugged. ‘’Tis nothing. She’s merely taken a chill and prefers not to expose herself to the frosty air.’

I stared at him. I have one accomplishment which oft-times serves me well, and that is: I sometimes have feelings about things. My friend Isabelle says I have the Sight, but I don’t like to call it that, for they say similar gifts are possessed by witches. By some strange and unaccountable means, however, I knew that Tomas wasn’t speaking the truth. ‘Do you say so?’ I asked, rather coolly, for I had proved in the past that my loyalty and love for the queen were unquestionable, and I did not care to be fobbed off with trite excuses as if I were just anyone.

‘Ah.’ He knew I didn’t believe him. His eyes flickered around us, making sure no one was close enough to hear his next words. ‘Very well – but I must be brief,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You remember the so-called secret which was actually the talk of the Court?’

‘Which one?’ I asked, for the Court is ever a seething mass of rumour, mystery, gossip and speculation.

‘The rumour which concerned the queen’s favourite.’

I nodded immediately, for Isabelle and I had been quite agog with the tale of the Master of the Queen’s Horse, Sir Robert Dudley, long held to be her lover,
who’d recently wed without her knowledge or consent. ‘Has she found out about the marriage?’ I asked, for the last I’d heard, none of her ladies-in-waiting had been able to bring themselves to tell her of it. ‘How did that happen?’

‘A few days ago – the rightful day we should have set off for London. Her Grace was told of it out of spite by a foreign ambassador after she’d refused his own marriage proposal.’

‘Never!’ I exclaimed. Behind Tomas’s back I was aware of the white pony frisking about and the girl on its back making noises of annoyance. ‘And Her Grace has taken it very badly?’

He nodded. ‘She has. She has wept so much she says she’s not fit to be seen by her people. Hence she travels behind curtains.’

Tears sprang to my eyes. ‘Poor lady! I think she really loved Sir Robert.’

‘Indeed. She says her heart is broken.’

‘Then … ?’ I didn’t have to finish the question, which was one oft asked:
why hadn’t she married him?

‘Because he’s not popular with her senior ministers,’ said Tomas, shrugging. ‘There was the difficulty with his first wife dying in a suspicious manner … and anyway, the queen’s ministers want her to add to her status and her coffers by marrying a rich foreign prince, not give herself to someone as comparatively low born as he.’