Conspiracy Read online

  I will go back now and write of the ride to Kenilworth. I was actually feeling a little sick from eating so much at dinner. We all rode on as usual until we came within about five miles of the castle.

  The Earl bowed low in the saddle and said, “By your leave, Majesty, I must ride ahead to see that all is in readiness.”

  The Queen gave him her hand to kiss and then he galloped away with his henchmen around him, looking, I must admit, very handsome.

  We carried on slowly and the Queen called for the musicians to come up from the rear of the column. When they arrived, puffing from running in the sun with their instruments, she had them play music for us to listen to as we rode, which was very pleasant. They played Galliards and Voltas and then, when they had got their breath back, they sang some Italian madrigals for us.

  We came in sight of Kenilworth and saw the castle on the hill, with its lake behind, glittering in the sun.

  Then the road went through a coppice of trees which were almost ready to be cut again, so they were all leafy and full. And suddenly I noticed that the trees were hung with ribbons and little packets were tied to the twigs.

  “Look, Mary!” I said, and leaned right over to grab one. Mr. Helston caught my bodice just in time to stop me falling off.

  The little package was wrapped in a scrap of coloured cloth and inside was a sugared plum. I love sugar—it is truly the best of spices.

  Mary put her knitting away quickly and grabbed as many of the sweetmeats as she could. And so did all the rest of us, except for Lady Jane, who stuck her nose in the air and looked very, superior. “Really!” she sniffed. “Anyone would think you had never seen sweetmeats before.”

  Some new music started from one of the thicker stands of trees—very soft, high singing and harps. It hardly sounded human at all.

  The column had stopped so that some of the gentlemen could grab for the sweetmeats tied to the trees, and then, just as Lady Sarah was reaching for some caraway kissing-comfits in a bag, she shrieked and giggled.

  I saw why. Half a dozen men dressed as fauns, with little gold horns on their heads and naked chests and furry breeches with tails, came running from the wood. One of them had a drum and they started weaving in and out of the horses, dancing and singing that the Queen of the May and all her train were come.

  The Queen firmly stopped her horse from skittering sideways and then sat and laughed and clapped in time to the drum.

  The dance ended and the fauns bowed. Then the most handsome one came up to the Queen's grey horse with a big bunch of grapes and a golden cup of wine upon a silver plate, which he offered up to her.

  The Queen sipped the wine and graciously ate some of the fruit. “How sweet the grapes are!” she exclaimed.

  Another faun climbed a tree and made a speech that rhymed quite well, welcoming the Queen and her train to the Forest of Arcadia.

  I remember when I was very little and my mother took me to entertainments, I used to think they were real. I would scream with fright at the giants and gasp at meeting the faery folk, which used to make the Queen smile. My mother kept explaining it was all in play, but it wasn't until she took me to meet the Court tumblers and the stilt-walkers and watch them putting their costumes on that I believed her. That was the first time I met my friend Masou, the tumbler.

  There was the sound of hooves and a knight in silver armour galloped into view. He hauled his charger back on its haunches and then trotted up to the Queen and bowed. When he lifted his visor, we saw it was the Earl of Leicester, who must have ridden like the wind in order to change into his tilting plate.

  “I am here to bring you to your summer kingdom, O most wise, most beautiful, most fair of all Queens,” he boomed.

  The Queen smiled, looking just as self-satisfied as Lady Sarah when she gets a poem from an admirer. “Has the Prince arrived yet?” she asked, in the sweet tones she uses when she is making trouble, which of course she was. She loves to tease her admirers—the Earl of Leicester in particular.

  The Earl frowned slightly. “Of course not, Your Majesty,” he said, in his normal voice again. “It would be most unsuitable for the Prince to be here before you. He is waiting three miles away until Your Majesty is ready to receive him.”

  The Queen nodded and, once the fauns had run away, we rode on. As we came to Kenilworth village we saw it was all new whitewashed, with the people standing ready to cheer and wave to the Queen. All were wearing their best clothes, which I think must have been newly made of the Earl's livery cloth, for they were the one colour mostly.

  Then some tumblers, dressed as dryads and faery folk, came dancing and somersaulting out and the musicians under the trees played a bright tune. And there was my friend Masou, the best boy tumbler in Mr. Will Somers's troupe, dressed as Puck in a costume of spangles and ribbons, and throwing himself through the air in flying tuck-jumps and cartwheels as he led the others.

  As we passed, the faery folk threw more sweetmeats and kissing-comfits at us and we laughed and shrieked as we tried to catch them. Masou climbed a frame that was covered with flowers, and hung upside down by his legs while pelting us with sugared almonds, carefully missing the Queen. I'm sure he aimed more at me than at the other girls, and so I caught some and chucked them back, which made him grin and whisk up out of sight.

  Once we were up the hill a little, we could see the big newly dug garden on our right; on the left was a big paddock where men were working to put up some very fancy pavilions painted in blue and yellow.

  The Queen reined in and I recognized the mischievous look on her face. “Who can it be that is making camp upon thy sward, my lord?”

  The Queen can be a terrible tease when she wants. Of course, she knew perfectly well who it was, since she had most certainly invited him. No one would dare to join the Queen upon her progress unless the Queen herself allowed it.

  But the Earl of Leicester is used to being teased, and this time he smiled and answered loudly, “I know not, Your Majesty, save only that supplicants came from the far north to beg the favour of dwelling space for the while of your visit, and in my joy that you were visiting me, what could I do but agree?”

  There was more coded talk, but I wasn't listening. I was craning my neck to see the camp. The men were lining up to pay their respects to the Queen. They were quite young, and very tall and handsome. A lot of them had blond hair. Lady Sarah and Carmina were whispering together, while Lady Jane did her best to look haughty, and as if she weren't staring as much as the rest of us.

  Lady Helena Snakenborg came forward on her horse and inclined her head graciously. “Your Majesty, may I present my kinsmen, who come here in the train of his grace, Prince Sven of Sweden,” she said, indicating the line of young men. Lady Helena has been one of my favourite Ladies-in-Waiting, ever since she came to England in the train of the Swedish Princess Cecilia. She got on so well with the Queen that she was asked to stay. She has the most beautiful pale face and fair hair and is the calmest, gentlest person you could ever meet, and one of the best at soothing the Queen when she is in a rage.

  “Oh!” I whispered to Mary. “They're Swedish!” All the men were bowing. One came up to the Queen, kneeled, and held up a package wrapped in sarsenet. “From His Grace Prince Sven, in earnest of his suit to you,” he said with a strong accent that sounded a bit German. He was tall, with fair hair and a serious expression. He wasn't as splendidly dressed as the others—in fact his sober wool doublet suggested he must be the Prince's secretary and translator.

  The Queen beckoned Mr, Hatton to fetch the package for her. She dearly loves to receive presents and she opened it excitedly right there and then. As the sarsenet rolled off, she held it up—a magnificent hunting horn, engraved with a hunting scene and furnished with gold and rubies.

  She made a great fuss of it, passing it round to all of us, and showing it to the Earl, who had a fixed smile on his face—probably because he was jealous. Then she hung it on her belt, where it glittered in the sunlight.


  We passed on up to the courtyard, which was surrounded on three sides by the castle itself. Even though it's an old-fashioned fortress from before my great-grandfather's time, it isn't at all dour or ugly. The Earl of Leicester has already installed some proper chimneys, twisting like snakes, and tall modern windows. The glass diamonds in the new windows threw back the sunset, making everything rosy and beautiful.

  We waited while the Queen dismounted, helped by the Earl, who was still in armour, and went forward with her gentlemen to the Great Hall. The courtyard was full of grooms and dogs investigating. As always it seemed like mayhem, but as everyone dismounts according to precedence it was really quite organized—first the Queen and her attendants, then us, then more of the courtiers, and so on.

  When it was my turn Mr. Helston steered Ginger to a mounting block, where another groom was waiting to hand me down from the pillion seat. One of my feet had gone to sleep so I had to hop a bit to join the others, who were standing in a group wondering where our quarters were to be, whil more grooms led the horses past us.

  A tall, fair-haired young man came along to speak to Mrs. Champernowne. “My name is John Hull,” he said, bowing to her. “I am one of my lord the Earl of Leicester's henchmen and I am to show you to your chambers, ma'am.” He had a very friendly smile and sparkling eyes, and I think Mrs. Champernowne liked him, for she smiled back and told him to lead the way.

  We all followed, still chatting.

  “… I liked the one on the left with the dreamy blue eyes,” Carmina was saying to Mary Shelton.

  “His nose is too long. Mine shall be the one with curly hair and long legs,” giggled Mary. “Which would you pick, Grace?” she asked.

  I thought they were being a bit silly. “None,” I told her. “I'm not interested in any of them.” Then suddenly my foot, which was still a bit numb, slipped on a stone and twisted right over. It hurt so much I squawked and nearly fell on the steps that led up to the archway into the main keep. Somebody caught my arm and helped me to sit down on a stone wall. It was John Hull, being very courteous and sympathetic. Unlike Mrs. Champernowne.

  “Tut-tut,” she said with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. “Clumsy again!” She inspected my foot. “I think you have sprained it, look you. Though it isn't very swollen. We shall go up to the chamber and bandage it up. John, will you help, if you please?”

  “Gladly, mistress,” John said, smiling at me.

  I'm sure my ankle was worse than Mrs. Champernowne said it was, because my heart was going thud thud thud. Everyone in the courtyard— which was full of horses and people—was too busy to notice, though.

  John swept me up in his arms and carried me all the way through the arch, through the entrance hall, and up the spiral stairs to the second floor!

  Even Lady Jane looked impressed by that, though I found it quite embarrassing and my face was all hot by the time he deposited me on one of the beds. He smiled and bowed out before I could even thank him.

  The Removing Wardrobe of Robes had already delivered our chests of clothes, along with the Queen's. Everybody started milling around.

  Lady Jane was looking for her spare smocks and throwing other people's clothes on the floor.

  Sarah flounced onto a stool in front of a mirror.

  “My face is utterly burned red by the sun!” she moaned. “Look! It's as if I have been haymaking. Why will the Queen not let us wear masks for our faces to protect us from the sun?”

  “Stuff!” sniffed Lady Jane. “You are pink because of the Swedish gentlemen.”

  “I certainly am not!” snapped Lady Sarah.

  “Well, I have no intention of taking a foreigner for a husband,” Lady Jane said. “I had rather have a nice Englishman, like that John Hull that was so kind to little Lady Grace.” And she gave me a rather nasty look, I thought. Also I am not that little.

  I was going to say something of the sort, but Mary quietly elbowed me and whispered, “She's jealous!”

  And now everyone is nearly ready. I haven't seen Ellie yet. I think she must be with the carts at the back of the train. She probably won't arrive for a while as all the gentlemen's horses have to be looked after before the grooms can attend to the carthorses. But I must go and wash my face and hands and change into white damask. Then we will all eat supper with the Queen—and so to bed early, for all of us are quite tired, even Her Majesty.

  THE SECOND DAY OF AUGUST,

  IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1569

  I cannot sleep, what with Mary Shelton's snoring and Lady Jane's muttering. Also the Earl of Leicester has just clattered out of the courtyard with an attendance of twenty-five, to escort Prince Sven in for his first meeting with the Queen, The horses had their hooves and bridles padded so as not to wake her, but I still heard them snorting.

  Last night I didn't go to bed early after all. Supper with the Queen was fun, for everyone was gossiping about the Swedish gentlemen. Lady Helena was gravely answering questions about her country. For instance, there are great dark forests whence they send us logs to build ships, and there are trolls living in the forests who will come out and eat naughty children!

  When we had finished it was still quite light. The Earl of Leicester has a hunt planned for today and he invited the Queen to inspect the horses. The Queen readily agreed. She loves to ride and she loves horses as well; I don't, so I asked to be excused because of my ankle, which was hurting a bit but not as much as I said.

  I was just limping off to my chamber when I saw Ellie coming down the spiral stairs, which was lucky because I had saved her a beef pasty and some manchet bread in my petticoat pocket.

  We sneaked off to the kitchen buildings, where I am not supposed to go, so she could hide behind a store shed and eat it all up. She hadn't had anything since breakfast that day. Mrs. Fadget, the Deputy Laundress, and her favourites had eaten all the dinner supplied for the laundrywomen. I've told the Queen how bad Mrs. Fadget is, but she won't interfere. Mrs. Twiste, wife of the Master Launderer, could not come on progress because she must oversee the cleansing of the laundry buildings, and the laying in of more stores of soap and ten-day-old urine at Whitehall Palace. It is a pity, because she is much nicer than Mrs. Fadget.

  “I dunno what them Swedes is up to,” said Ellie. “They're building a shed as well as their pavilions. What would they need a shed for?”

  “Oh, that's the Prince's private stews,” I told her. “Lady Helena was talking about it. They think you should bathe every single week! They'll put a brazier in the shed to heat it up, so the Prince can raise a sweat as the Turks do, and then he will take a dip in the lake.”

  “Load of nonsense, if you ask me,” sniffed Ellie. “Everyone knows it's unhealthy to wash all the time. I think the Queen is wood-wild for bathing every month. Every week! The Prince will wash his skin away. And anyway, isn't he embarrassed about his tail?”

  “Eh?” I asked.

  “He's a foreigner, ain't he? So he's got a tail-stands to reason,” Ellie explained.

  I wasn't sure about that. “Well, I don't think the Queen would be considering marrying him if he—”

  “All foreigners have tails,” stated Ellie firmly. “It's a well-known fact.”

  “But Ellie, if that's true, then Masou would have one and he hasn't,” I argued.

  That made Ellie pause. “Well, he's not very foreign, is he?”

  “He's just as foreign as Prince Sven,” I pointed out. “Anyway, let's go and see him.”

  Ellie gulped down the last of the pastry—which you aren't even supposed to eat because it's just for holding the meat together—and we went off to find the tumblers;

  They were down by the lake, having their own supper and complaining that the tents put up for them looked likely to leak. Mr. Somers, the Queen's Fool, was having an argument with the man in charge of putting the tents up. Masou was practising walking on his hands, still in his bright, ribboned Puck suit.

  Ellie and I watched him for a moment. He spotted us, winked, and walked on his
hands right round some trees and into a little grove, where he jumped onto his feet again.

  “My lady,” he said with an elaborate bow. “How wondrous—”

  “Stop it, Masou,” I interrupted, giving him a punch on the arm. “You know I don't like you to call me ‘my lady’ when we're alone.”

  “Masou,” Ellie put in suddenly, “is it true that you don't have a tail, even though you're a foreigner?”

  Masou's eyes opened wide and then he laughed. “Of course I don't,” he said. “Where would I put it when I sat down?”

  Ellie blushed and shrugged. “I dunno. It was just some nonsense Mrs. Fadget was talking about,” she mumbled.

  Masou laughed again, and I couldn't help it—I roared with laughter, too. Ellie scowled for a moment, but then she saw the funny side and laughed as well. Masou stood on his hands again and paced up and down, still chuckling.

  Somebody shouted Masou's name and, still upside down, he said, “Come and meet the newest tumbler.” So we followed him as he walked on his hands back to where the other tumblers were practising.

  As he came right-side up, he looked critically at the pyramid they were building. Then he turned to me. “I shall have very little time for talking with you, my lady,” he said. “I have so much to do in these entertainments.”

  “I know, you're Puck, the Spirit of Mischief,” I told him. “You nearly hit me in the eye with a sugared almond!”

  “No, I didn't. I was aiming very carefully for your ears,” Masou said, and grinned. “There he is—what do you think of him?”

  He was pointing to the top of the pyramid, where the two dwarves, Peter and Paul, were holding up a tiny little boy with a mop of black curls. I had seen him somersaulting behind Masou at Oxey Hall. Now he had his arms out and was balancing on Peter and Paul's hands with a look of concentration on his face.

  The dwarves counted loudly, “One … two … three!” and threw him up in the air. He turned over once in midair and landed slightly unsteadily on his feet where French Louis was waiting to steady him.