The Sea Beggars (32 page)

Lumey was shouting at the secretary again. Sonoy pulled on his beard, his mouth curled into a thoughtful purse. “There are times,” he said, “when a loud noise makes only an echo. Let's go.”

Jan was watching a parade of pretty girls go giggling by him, their arms piled up with flowers. A powerful perfume lingered in their wake. He wondered where they found flowers so early in the year. Sonoy got him by the arm.

“Let's go!”

“Where's …” Jan twisted to look behind him for Lumey.

The big pirate was still screaming in the secretary's face; now the Englishman jerked up his arm in a signal, and all around the gallery the men in orange velvet who flanked the doors came forward. Lumey stood his ground against them.

“I'll have you know I am a baron of the German Empire—”

Unfortunately he issued this declaration in Dutch. The English guards strode on toward him, six men, six big men, their hands on their small swords. The first two to reach Lumey hooked their arms through his and heaved him toward the front door. Lumey let out a roar of indignation. He wrenched one arm free and flung his fist at the guard on his other side.

Jan started forward to help him; the other four guards were closing fast with him, drawing their swords. Sonoy rushed past them all. Snatching up a little stool as he passed, he dashed in between the guard who held Lumey and Lumey himself.

“For the
John Calvin!
” he cried, and clubbed Lumey over the head with his stool.

Jan shouted, amazed. Lumey collapsed on the floor at his feet, and Jan took a step forward, straddling him, to defend him from the guards. Sonoy gave the stool to the nearest man in orange velvet, who gaped at him, dumb.

The secretary said something crisply, motioning the guards away. Sonoy turned. “Bring him,” he said to Jan, and walked away to the door.

“Why did you do that?” Leicester stalked away from the window, his shadow long before him. “Valiant warriors for the faith, true hearts in our own cause, and you turn them off. You are afraid, aren't you?” He wheeled toward her, his face flushed with the intensity that served him in place of thought. “You're afraid of Philip.”

“Everyone is afraid of Philip.”

“That dog. That meeching monk. He lost us Calais; you know that.” Fierce as a cheetah, he stalked toward her where she stood in the window overlooking the gate yard. “The Bloody Queen went to help the Hapsburgs, and so we lost Calais. The Dutch could be our chance to recover our empire! Don't you see that?”

The English Empire: one city. One lost city. She put her shoulder to passionate Robin Leicester and turned her eyes toward the Dutch pirates, down by the gate. The two still upright were laying their unconscious fellow across his saddle. She would have to have the story of that; no guards of hers had escorted them out of the palace, as they would have had they taken force to the Dutch. She laid her hand on the white windowsill. The tall fair man held her interest, who had carried the other out on his shoulder. Her father had carried her around on his shoulder.

“The Dutch deserve our help,” said her bonny Robin, still prowling the room behind her in his excess of male vigor. “They fight our enemies and they are alone. I do not understand why you refuse even to see them.”

She knew something of the Dutch, and something more of Philip of Spain; to meddle between them would need a steady hand and a keen eye, and a willingness to settle for very little in the matter of reward. Now the Prince of Orange's navy was riding out the gate, an opportunity checked. Or a temptation safely avoided. She turned toward Leicester, who saw no value in ambiguity.

“You heard their story complete. Tell me the lines of it again.”

“I had it only in the echo, but even so it heats my blood, as it will yours.” He crossed the room toward her, walking from the shadow into the light. “Outnumbered and outgunned, they fought the Spanish to a standstill on the Channel seas until a storm scattered them, and the galleons took refuge in Plymouth Sound. Next, the Dutch appear”—his hands made sails in the air—“and stand between the Dons and their escape. Night falls, and under the shield of darkness, the Spanish flame the greatest of the Dutch ships, nearly murdering all on board.”

She chuckled at him. “I think you need a theater for your full effect, my lord. Still, you are right, it's a serious matter. I'll send to Plymouth for an edition in English. And now, sir—”

She held out her hand to him, and with some little grace he gave her his arm to rest her fingers on. They left the room.

Jan drew rein and looked back up the road; beyond the rooftops of the houses that crowded around its walls, the palace of the English Queen raised its bannered towers into the sky.

“Come along,” said Sonoy. “A slow foot makes a long road.”

“Captain—” Jan faced him over Lumey, still hanging like a roll of carpet over the saddle of his horse. “A disguisers' ball—everyone will wear a costume. Isn't that right?”

Lumey groaned. Sonoy put one foot on his friend's backside and rocked him back and forth. “Yes, that's what it means.”

“Then why can't we go?”

Sonoy's gaze rose to meet his. Lumey was moving now, his head bobbing over the stirrup. Chimes sounded down the road; a beer wagon was rolling up the way toward them, the horses' harness merry with brass bells.

“We haven't got any costumes, for one thing,” Sonoy said.

“We do,” Jan said. “We could go as seamen. What's wrong with that?”

“If we're caught, that's the end of our suit with Elizabeth.”

“It seems to me our suit's at an end already.”

He looked back up at the palace again; the wall hid the bunting and lanterns in the garden from him, the stage, the fountain gushing wine, the improbable flowers, the pretty girls. When night came, and the lanterns glowed, and the girls laughed and danced on the lawns …

“I'm going,” he said. “I have a clean shirt in my bag.”

Face down on the saddle, Lumey thrashed, and a yell erupted from him. He heaved himself upright, grabbing for the pommel of his saddle, missed his hold, and fell into the street. Sonoy murmured in sleek satisfaction.

“Mortified, by God.” He swung down from his horse and hauled Lumey onto his feet. “Rise up, rise up, the wind's fair and the sea won't wait forever. Young van Cleef has a notion to storm the Queen's fancy evening.”

“What?” Still groggy, Lumey swung his head from side to side. “What?”

Fool. Jan galloped away down the road toward London.

Lady Jane Dudley was dressed as Diana, with a crescent moon in her hair and a sheaf of arrows on her back; Elizabeth was one of her huntresses. In the moonlight the white gowns seemed to shine like silver. Pleased, Elizabeth drew back by the arbor to see everything whole.

In among the new-leafed trees tied with flowers of silk and paper, in the patchy glow of the lanterns, her court strutted and preened like a flock of Byzantine birds, all jeweled and ribboned, made tall by strange headdresses and wide by extravagant padding. There by the fountain was someone—Gilbert—got up as Caesar, in a long white gown like a nightdress, a wreath of laurel on his thinning hair, and two fellows trailing after him with bundles of sticks. He went bowing and posturing through a crowd of wood nymphs and fools in clocked hose, stranger than any of Caesar's triumphs. King Solomon backed out of his way, stiff under an enormous crown of ostrich plumes that swayed perilously whenever he moved; behind him, blackamoors held up the litter on which Sheba reclined, her dress flashing and fiery with jewels.

In another part of the garden was a troop of Brazilian aborigines, nude but for strategic placements of feathers and gold. Greeks and Arabs were everywhere, drinking and boisterous, and even some animals—a lion, walking upright with a mane of golden wire, and a unicorn going about properly on all fours, casting glances here and there from glowing eyes.

The musicians behind Elizabeth began to play; she thought of organizing all these visions into a dance. Her eye caught on a strange appearance at the far side of the garden.

It was a tall man, fair headed and half-naked, without a jewel on him anywhere, a rude stone in this treasure chest. Elizabeth went a little closer, intrigued. He wore shirt and trousers of common cloth, but nothing more; it was the contrast of such plain stuff with the fantastic dress around him that made him look naked. She guessed he was costumed as a sailor.

A moment later she realized he was a sailor, one of the Sea Beggars who had spent the afternoon trying to gain audience with her. After him came the other two, one as soberly dressed as a precisian, and the other, more ordinary in this company, wearing a long embroidered tunic like a Popish priest's vestment.

The Queen's temper warmed. She was minded to have them chased away, and looked for one of her guards; she would have them beaten, too, for such impudence. The nearest guard lounged against a walnut tree across the lawn, flirting with Maid Marian, who was toying with his belt.

The costumes made everything different, Elizabeth saw; they were all strangers now, even to themselves—freed of themselves for the evening. Wasn't that what she had intended? She smiled, her royal anger cooled. She herself could hide in this artifice, rest from her nature and find some amusement to renew her mind. Let the Dutchmen stay. She went down the sloping lawn into the anonymous crowd.

The flowers were false. They were made of paper and cloth and drenched in perfume, like whores.

Disappointed, Jan moved away from the trees, toward the fountain sparkling and splashing in the center of the lawn. The people there were dancing, a dozen of them drawn up in the figure for a round, the girls on the inside. Their clothes were magnificent. The more he saw of them, the more out of place he felt here, in his canvas shirt: these people wore their fortunes on their backs. He stood watching the circles of dancers heel and toe and heel and leap to the brittle music of viol and lute.

One girl especially caught his eye, so beautiful he held his breath a moment, to see her, dancing on the far side of the circle. She wore a long green gown, her puffed white sleeves spangled with gems and her hair done in braids over her head; he supposed all these English recognized the character at once. The dance brought her steadily closer to him, and he went forward a little, eager to see her beauty in the lantern light, ready to worship her; and then she came face to face with him and he saw her beauty was paint, and her looks, close on, so hard and false he turned his back at once and blundered away through the crowd.

He found some wine and drank it. Where Sonoy and Lumey had gone, he had no notion; strangers surrounded him, talking in a language he did not understand. He walked through the night gardens, avoiding the other masquers. The wine was strong; he drank too much of it. The strangers jostled him. He stood watching them whirl and sway in another dance. In their jewels and feathers and fanciful clothes, they no longer seemed like people to him, but made things, mechanical beings, and monsters.

He wondered if all expectations suffered like this, if all beauty were false. If all heroic deeds began as cheap shams, like the burning of the
John Calvin
.

He went into the trees, to relieve himself. As he stood pissing into a bush, a girl ran into him from one side.

She giggled. She smelled of the strong wine. Her bodice was open down the front and one round breast emerged, nestled in the folds of cloth. She clutched his arm to keep her balance, laughing; with his free hand he struggled to put away his penis. A man burst out of the bushes after her.

“Oho!” The man strode up to them, shouted some angry words at the girl, seized her arm, and pulled her back away from Jan. She tripped on her skirts and fell backward against the newcomer. Jan pulled his trousers closed. The man pushed him.

“Easy, there,” Jan said, and backed off a step, looking for the way out of this.

A volley of hot English came at him. The man let go of the girl, who slid down onto the trampled grass, subsiding into feeble drunken giggles. Her companion drew his long sword.

“Now, wait,” Jan said, switching to French. “You have this wrong. I did nothing with her.” His eyes followed the silvery gleam of the blade. His stomach tightened; he backed up another step, and came up hard against someone else, behind him, who seized his arms.

The man with the sword bellowed and lunged forward, the sword point aimed at Jan's belt buckle. Full of wine, Jan saw this all very slowly, and moved slowly, as if in a dance, sidestepping to let the sword pass by him, wrenching his arms free of the grip from behind him.

Something struck him on the head. In French, he cried, “I am innocent!” and fell. The ground came up hard into his face. He rolled over, dodging the unseen sword point. A foot thudded into his side. His legs got tangled in the brush, and he kicked out; another roll, and he hit the rough bark of a tree trunk.

“Hold!”

That voice rang like iron. He lay still, breathing hard, while his attackers moved away from him.

The iron voice, not loud, spoke on in English. Surprised, he realized the timbre was feminine. Feet moved swiftly around him, pattering away. He lifted his head; he was alone, and not hurt, not badly. He sat up.

Not alone. She stood in front of him, a woman in a long white gown with a sheaf of silver arrows on her back.

She said, in French, “Well, Master Sailor, something shipwrecked in the wine?”

“Thank you,” he said. He knew this was the Queen.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, Madame.” He pushed himself up onto his feet, one hand to his head, where he had been struck. Now he stood over her, head and shoulders taller, which he shortened in as fine a bow as he could muster. “Thank you, your Grace.”

She stood straight and stiff as a pikestaff before him, frowning at him. “Thank me when you have gone safely from me, Master Beggar! I am considering now whether to have you thrown into the ditch, or into one of my dungeons.”