Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (46 page)

"She will never wed him. We have all been made fools of to have ever believe
d
it likely," Sir Raymond said in disgust, thinking of the years that had been wasted while the whore had dangled her crown before that French pup. "Two years now she has been playing this game. At first, I did not believe she would marry him. 'Twas just another play to keep the French and Spanish from forming a closer alliance. But when he came to England and I saw how they amused one another, how she papered him and kept him at her side, how very fond she became of him, why, I actually began to believe that she would wed him," he complained bitterly, thinking of all of the opportunities he had missed to rid England of Elizabeth's marriage to
Alen
ç
on
. Little had the queen realized how safe she'd been during the last two years while he'd bided
his
time, believing her intentions were true.

"Well, she may yet do so," Cordelia said, wondering why Raymond should be so upset about it. Perhaps he'd been counting on his own marriage being more acceptable to Elizabeth if she were contemplating nuptials of her own.

" 'Tis important," Sir Raymond replied, a strange expression in his eyes." 'Twill make it more difficult, that is all. But, not impossible, I think," he added, smiling as if at some private joke.

He would, however, miss the monies he'd been receiving from the French ambassador for the past several years. In exchange, he'd used his influence at court to further France's cause. He glanced down at the ruby glowing on his finger. A gift from a grateful
Alen
ç
on
, who needed all of the allies he could find in the English court. There were many, among them Sir Francis Walsingham, who were bitterly opposed to such an alliance. The Protestant preachers throughout England had been warning against Elizabeth's proposed marriage to a Catholic prince. Crowds had come close to rioting in the streets and
Elizabeth’s
popularity had never been so low. There had even been an attempt on her life several years earlier when an unknown assassin had fired on the royal barge. A pity, thought Sir Raymond, that her assailant had missed and hit one of her attendants instead. Had Elizabeth died then, it would have ended forever Protestant rule in England.

Most likely there would have been civil war, but during the confusion, a group of
loyal
followers could have freed Mary Stuart from her imprisonment. Fourteen years now the Queen of Scots had been held prisoner in England, Sir Raymond fumed. But with Spanish troops landing in Ireland, Spain's army just across the Channel in the Netherlands, and Catholics rebelling in England and Scotland, they would soon have won the war and returned England and her people to the true faith.

Actually, he would be sorry if
Elizabeth
did not wed
Alen
ç
on
, for he preferred the French to the Spanish. Although he had in the past held closer ties with the Spanish, he had no special love for them. Until recently, he'd thought the French would be more useful to their cause, but now, it looked as if he might have to resume his relationship with the Spanish; indeed, he had an appointment with Bernardino de Mendoza, the Spanish ambassador, the very next day.

Whatever, it mattered naught to him, Sir Raymond thought, not unduly worried as long as the end result was the assassination of Elizabeth Tudor.

"We really should greet them," Cordelia was saying as she
quickened
her step toward where George Hargraves, Sir Charles Denning, Thomas Sandrick, and Walter Raleigh were standing in
conversation
.

"I'll be damned, Cordelia, if I am going to greet anyone, even George Hargraves, with
this
on my shoe," Sir Raymond declared. "I'll be over there, near that booth," he told her as he disappeared into the crowd, determined not to give Hargraves anything to jest about on the morrow, and spying dung on his shoe, George Hargraves would not have been able to resist a ribald comment.

Damned crowded
, Sir
Raymond
Valchamps thought as he squeezed into the crowd, wondering if he'd be able to find a seat. With an impatient gesture and coin pressed into his palm, he sent away his surprised
manservant
, allowing the man to think his master a most generous gentleman. Sir Raymond felt the stiffness of the ciphered letter tucked safely up his sleeve and smiled despite the press of unwashed bodies surrounding him, for that was the real reason behind his separating from Cordelia and not wishing to meet the others. Not a half hour past, the cipher had been passed to him. At the proper time, he would pass the secret document to a courier, who would then pass it to an agent who had access to Mary Stuart. Raymond Valchamps felt a shiver go through him as he thought of the pop's hand having touched the missive he now carried. At times, despite the comfort he found himself enjoying as a
knight
of the realm and court favorite, he wished to be more actively involved in the plotting against Elizabeth.

At the beginning of the year he'd been on the Continent, having received Elizabeth's permission to travel abroad under the excuse of making necessary business contacts
concerning
his exporting of cloth. Once on the Continent, he had quickly made for Paris, where he'd met with English Catholics in exile and with agents of Mary, Queen of Scots. It was there that he'd heard more of the plan, backed by the pope and Philip II, to invade England. And should the ultimate deed fall unto him and he be chosen to strike the blow against Elizabeth, then he would do it with a clear conscience, having been promised a papal dispensation.

Sir Raymond
Valchamps
sighed, glancing around curiously, wondering when he would be contacted. Who would the courier be this time? Except for the dark blue velvet hat with a red feather on the left side, the man would probably be a complete stranger to him. He would be nothing more than someone accidentally bumping against him and whispering the password, at which he would hand over the cipher and be about his way. He eyed those closest around him, his mind wandering while he waited. Idly, he listened to the performance that had just begun in the booth close by.

It was with a sense of disbelief that Sir Raymond Valchamps continued to stand there. It took some effort to turn his gaze toward the booth where the puppet show was in progress. Strange that he should feel so chilled on so warm a day in summer, he found himself thinking, oblivious now to the crowd
pressing
so close, like a noose about his neck.

On the small stage, where several puppets were engaged in various antics, a tale was unfolding. A team of wild white horses, drawing an incredible chariot formed of coral, came prancing out onto the stage. The stiff wooden legs stomped up and down almost rhythmically as unseen hands pulled their strings and guided them. A princely figure was addressed as Prince Basil by a small puppet called Sweet Rose, who held the reins. On a voyage of great importance, they had discovered an evil jinni's plot to murder Elizabeth, Queen of the Misty Isle. They had been trying to return to England when they had fallen under the spell of the witch of the Northland, who had pretended to befriend them. But the witch had blown a storm into their path and wrecked them on a strange western isle where they were destined to spend the rest of their days.

But Lily, Queen of the Indian Isles, granted them each a wish. And in their chariot of coral, with a team of wild white horses, they would fly through the skies to the Misty Isle. Then the dark, cowled figure of a priest swept threateningly from out of the shadowy palms of a tropical isle painted on the backdrop, while a bizarre,
feathered
figure with a tall headdress and a gold-painted mask jumped in fron
t of the horse-drawn chariot. T
here was a battle, and the prince and Sweet Rose were taken captive.

A puppet with flowing red hair floated across the stage on a sea horse. Uttering words of warning, Lily, Queen of the Indian Isles, confronted the menacing bird-figure from the New World. The jinni knew no fear and flung her off the cliff. A bearded puppet wearing a crown and brandishing a sword rose from out of the sea and rescued the fallen heroine from death, but both fled before the cannon fire from a troop of Spanish soldiers marching across the small stage.

The curtains closed, to great applause, then opened to reveal a painted backdrop of a mythical, undersea kingdom with strangely colored turreted towers and
grotesquely
shaped trees. The sea maiden and King Neptune floated down to a cave where a treasure chest lay half buried in the sand. Sitting on a golden throne, the king called his troops from the sea. Dolphins, turtles, starfish, and all manner of horrible, finned beasts appeared. Leading them was a young merman, the brave Count Tristram. Fearful for their safety, and that of Prince Basil and Sweet Rose, the sea maiden went in search of help and exited the stage.

Sir Raymond stared at the stage almost impatiently while he waited for the curtains to part on Act Three. The painted backdrop had become an ocean, with the distant shore of the isle rising from the mists in the background. Across this sea sailed a galleon with golden sails, the red cross of St. George flying above the masts. Courageously, the ship's captain sailed into the raging battle, sinking the Spaniards' ship, which disappeared from the stage accompanied by a roar of approval from the crowd.

The c
owled priest was hiding behind a palm tee, but soon he was routed as a black jaguar leapt from behind the flowery underbrush and landed
on the robed figure. T
he jinni attacked Prince Basil and Sweet Rose, but the prince, escaping his bonds, drew his sword and did battle with the jinni.

As Sir Raymond Valchamps stood mesmerized before the stage he saw the golden mask flung from the puppet in the feathered cape. A gasp of surprise came from the audience as a horrible face was revealed. The jinni was not a savage creature from the New World after all, but the evil Northland witch with one blue eye and one brown eye. Unblinkingly, Sir Raymond watched as Prince Basil beheaded the witch to the crowd's bloodthirsty delight.

The final scene opened at court, with Elizabeth, an elegant puppet with a bright red wig and velvet gown, knighting the captain of the ship and granting permission for the captain and the Queen of the Indian Isles to wed, while Prince Basil, Sweet Rose, and Count Tristram stood before her. And the head of the witch, with its one brown eyes and one blue eye and colorless hair, was stuck on a mock Traitor's Gate.

"Saved the queen, they have. God bless her!"

"Aye, got the
witch
with the one blue eye and one brown eye," someone commented next to sir Raymond Valchamps.

"Stuck the ugly head on Traitor's Gate! Let the crows have it!"

"Lord 'elp us, but d'ye think there really be traitors like that 'ere in England?"

Standing up on the ledge at the top of the booth, five figures cloaked in black, with expressionless, black-masked faces, took their bows.

Sir Raymond pushed his way through the crowd, not hearing a woman's cry of fear before she fainted when he shoved his way past her, his gaze catching and holding hers for a terrifying instant. Blindly, he walked right past the man in the dark blue
velvet
hat with the bright red feather who had been trying to move closer to his side for the past ten minutes.

Sir Raymond Valchamps was never certain how he
managed
to make his way through the crowd and around to the back of the booth. Standing near a booth close by, as if interested in the display of brass gleaming along the counter, he watched as a tall man dressed in a green jerkin lifted a small, cloaked figure down from the ledge in back. Pulling off the concealing mask, a young girl's face met his eye. Another figure had climbed down unassisted. Removing the mask, a boy of about ten started laughing in response to the jesting remark made by another cloaked figure, which when the cloak and mask were removed revealed a short, dark-haired man.

But Sir Raymond continued to watch. He saw the man in the green jerkin reach up again, this time to give a hand to the last cloaked figure, safely guiding the puppeteer down the rickety steps to the ground.

Sir Raymond's breath quickened as the robe fell from the figure.

Lily Christian

Sir Raymond leaned against the side of the booth,
suddenly
unable to support himself. Geoffrey Christian's brat seemed to haunt him as surely as if her father had returned from the grave to see revenge for his murder.

Sir Raymond stared at the beautiful young woman, her dark red hair glinting in the sunshine.
Why? Why?
he asked himself. He dropped his eyes, almost guiltily, when she glanced around. How well he remembered those pale green eyes staring at him so curiously in the courtyard of her grandfather's villa in Santo Domingo. He had been lulled until today into forgetting the threat she was.

After that meeting with her at Tamesis House, when she had her brother and sister had returned to England, and when he had failed to end her life, he had made certain that everyone knew he'd met her before; but at Highcross Court, when Elizabeth and the court had visited. No one would have believed the child should she have spoken of meeting him elsewhere, and certainly not in Santo Domingo. But the child had never said anything; at least he'd never been questioned about such a
meeting
. The years had passed and he'd seen her at court and had even delighted in seeking her out and forcing her into casual conversation with him. He knew she was frightened of him, although he
was
the only one who knew why. Even she was ignorant of the truth. What a fool he'd been. She had tricked him, deceived him into believing that she was no longer a threat to him.

Sir Raymond swallowed, feeling the cold perspiration beading his upper lip. But now, if anyone of their acquaintance should witness this puppet show
.
.
.

"The last performance of the day. It went well, Lily Francisca," Romney Lee congratulated her. "I think you should
practice
more with the horses, Odell. You nearly got the wires tangled up," he told Farley, who was handing his cloak to Tillie.