Conspiracy Read online

  At last the hounds gave tongue and started running. The huntsmen blew their horns, and the Queen showed off by blowing her own horn, and then grinning at Prince Sven. She used the whip, because her horse was sidestepping a little, and the gelding bunched himself straight into a canter and then a gallop.

  Borage saw all this and got excited, lurching into a canter himself. And then, when I tried to pull on the reins to slow him down, he just put down his chin, took the bit with his teeth, and ignored me. Typical. I didn't want him to run fast—but there was the Queen racing ahead with the Earl of Leicester and Prince Sven. And Borage had decided to keep up with them, instead of sticking with the Maids of Honour further back.

  The Queen was leaning low in the saddle as she raced both the Earl and Prince Sven, and they went hammering through the trees and across the grass sward between them, with the Queen ahead by a neck and shouting with laughter.

  Suddenly, Prince Sven's horse checked—and would likely have thrown him if he hadn't been such a good rider. He urged the animal on, but he was behind now—while I was ahead of everybody except him, the Earl of Leicester and the Queen herself! And all I could think of was hanging onto the saddle-horn and trying to move my bum in time with Borage's mad bumping as you are supposed to do. It was exciting, but also very annoying because it was Borage's idea, not mine.

  I was staring ahead at the Queen, trying to do the same as her, when suddenly I saw that there was something wrong with the way the Queen was sitting. It seemed as if she wasn't as erect as she usually is. Then I realized that her saddle was slipping sideways.

  I shouted sharply, “Yout Majesty! Your saddle!”

  The Queen looked once over her shoulder at me—and that was when she knew her girth was broken. If she had tried to stop immediately, she would have gone straight over the horse's head, saddle and all. So she took her foot out of the stirrup and held onto the horse's mane. Her face was white, as her saddle continued to slip sideways. She looked ahead to the Earl of Leicester, but he hadn't seen what was happening.

  But Prince Sven had noticed by now. He spurred his horse on and the chestnut gave a burst of speed, bringing the Prince alongside the Queen, just as the saddle went completely sideways. The Prince leaned over and caught the Queen round the waist so she could unhook her leg and then, as the saddle came off, he lifted her bodily out of it and pulled his horse to a halt.

  Borage decided to stop, too, so quickly that he nearly unseated me.

  I saw the Earl as he spotted the Queen's horse careering past with no rider. He turned his horse on its haunches, his face as white as milk, and hammered back to see what had happened.

  He found the Queen sitting on Prince Sven's saddle-bow, pink-cheeked and breathing hard, but her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Elizabeth!” he shouted. “Thank God, for a moment I thought you had fallen. …” He rode close, still very pale. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  I had never seen the Earl so upset. And I had certainly never heard anyone at all call the Queen plain “Elizabeth,” as if she were an ordinary person.

  “My wretched saddle fell off, my lord,” said the Queen. “But His Grace the Prince caught me, as you see, and saved me.”

  “I am in your debt, Your Grace,” said the Earl to the Prince, and even his lips were still pale. “If my sweet Queen had been hurt my life would have been a burden to me.”

  The Prince probably didn't understand the words but he inclined his head courteously.

  “Meantime, I am without a horse and the hunt is up,” said the Queen crossly. She looked across at my horse, which I would gladly have given her— except now the aggravating nag was limping as if he had strained one of his legs in his mad dash. Serve him right.

  “For Heaven's sake, which of you will give me a horse?”

  “Please!” Sven at once jumped down from the saddle, leaving the Queen still there. “You are welcome to take my horse,” he said. “But I have no side-saddle.”

  You can't ride side-saddle without a proper saddle for it. But the Queen was very poor when she was young and out of favour with her father, King Henry. Because she couldn't afford side-saddles, she learned to ride astride as countrywomen do. So she simply smiled at Sven and gathered up her skirts, lifted her leg over the horse's neck and settled herself astride.

  Prince Sven looked surprised at first to see that such a high-born lady knew how to ride like a peasant, but then his gaze became admiring. The Queen smiled down at him, took the reins, and kicked her heels. The chestnut sprang away, followed by the Earl.

  I thought Prince Sven would wait for the grooms who were bringing up the remounts, but no, he started running at the Queen's stirrup as if he were a gi-oom himself. I have to admit, he's got such long legs he's a very good runner. But when the Queen laughed and upped the pace, he turned back.

  I caught sight of John coming up quite close by and so did Prince Sven. The Prince grabbed the horse's reins, then lifted John's foot out of the stirrup and tipped him off! Which I thought was quite rude of him, seeing that John isn't even one of his own attendants but the Earl of Leicester's henchman. Then he vaulted into the saddle and laid on with his whip. John's horse at once speeded up and Prince Sven galloped out of sight, bending low over the roan's neck.

  With a lot of kicking and huffing and puffing I got Borage to limp over to the bramble bush that John had fallen into. He climbed out of it, looking rueful but resigned.

  “I really don't like to gallop,” I said to him, watching as Jane and Sarah raced each other past, paced by three shouting Swedish noblemen.

  John had spotted the Queen's horse eating some grass just behind the brambles. He sidled up to it and caught the reins just as the horse shied away. Then he jumped up and rode bareback over to me.

  “Borage looks out of sorts, doesn't he?” John said sympathetically. “I saw him run away with you and I was racing to catch up. Are you all right?”

  My face went all hot. He'd been tipped off his horse by the Swedish Prince and he was asking after me?

  “Urn … I—I'm fine,” I stammered. “I hope you weren't hurt by your fall?”

  He laughed. “No, just a few scratches. I've fallen much more heavily than that at jousting practise.”

  We made the horses walk on together through the trees, with me wondering why I was so breathless. Probably all that galloping. I was quite proud I hadn't fallen off. “Do you think His Grace will catch up with the Queen?” I asked.

  “I should think so,” John said. “That strawberry roan is the best horse I ever rode. You did well to keep up with Her Majesty.” He smiled at me.

  “That wasn't me,” I said ruefully. “That was Borage loving to race.”

  We rode around peacefully in a wide circle to go back to the castle. Then the sounds of the hounds became stronger again and we stopped to watch them hurtle past with the Queen in pursuit. We saw the stag caught in a clearing by some coppice fencing. It turned there, panting, its flanks heaving.

  The hounds came boiling after it, then the Queen, the Earl of Leicester, and Prince Sven together. The Queen had her bow in her hand. Her horse stopped and she truly did look like Artemis in the tapestry on her bathing chamber wall. She dropped the reins, nocked an arrow to the string, drew, and loosed, then nocked another and loosed almost at once. You have to be a wonderful rider to shoot from the saddle. I was watching her, not the stag, because I didn't want to see it killed. I know I'm soft, but I can't help it.

  The Earl and Prince Sven both cheered at once and the Queen smiled with satisfaction, so I knew the poor stag was dead.

  The huntsmen had arrived, some on horseback, some running with the hounds, and they called the hounds off the kill.

  The Earl and Prince Sven were both congratulating the Queen. Then the Earl of Leicester beckoned angrily and one of his grooms brought up a horse with a lady's side-saddle, but now the hunt was done, the Queen dismounted and so did everyone else.

  The Master of Hounds brought the knife to the
Queen so that she might make the first cut, but she waved him on to Prince Sven, who took the knife, bowed, and went over to the stag.

  John helped me down from the horrible Borage. As I stepped out of his arms, he gave me a slightly odd look, but before I could ask if all was well, he led me on to the next clearing, where a repast was spread out on white cloth and musicians were playing hunting music from the trees. I was hungry and it looked delicious. There were about eight different kinds of raised pie, all beautifully decorated, and cold meats and manchet bread, and butter and cheese, with ale and mead to drink.

  The Queen was already sitting on the chair that had been brought for her, and she beckoned me over to arrange her kirtle. “Well, my Lady Grace,” she said, as she took one of the little pork pies the Earl of Leicester had brought for her, “what did you think of that? Did you enjoy the chase this time?”

  “Well,” I said, bringing her a big napkin to put on her lap, “I was very afraid when Your Majesty's saddle came loose. I never heard of that happening before. I was so scared you would fall—”

  “Fie, Grace, my dear, what if I had?” she replied. “You cannot ride without falling occasionally.”

  I remembered how white the Earl of Leicester's face had been, but said nothing.

  “Grace, I had rather you said nothing ofthat saddle to anyone,” she told me.

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” I answered, feeling somewhat surprised.

  The Queen must have seen my confusion, because she said, “My lord the Earl of Leicester is most distressed such a thing could have happened at his castle. I had to order him to stop apologizing to me.”

  “And even more distressed it was Prince Sven who rescued you,” I added boldly.

  The Queen gave me a warning look, but then smiled. “Quite. So we shall say nothing of it and give no fuel to gossip-mongers, since it was merely an accident, and I came to no harm.”

  Just then Lady Jane and Lady Sarah came into sight, so the Queen winked at me and waved me away. It looked as though Lady Sarah had gone through a hedge, for her hair was full of leaves, and Lady Jane was in a flaming temper because, it turned out, she had got lost and missed the kill.

  The musicians came up and started playing again, and there was dancing, which I begged to be excused from on account of my ankle…. Hell's teeth! I've just realized I forgot to limp when John helped me off my horse. That must be why he looked at me oddly.

  During the dancing, the court tumblers came running through the trees dressed as faery folk. They were led by Masou, as Puck, with the little boy Gypsy Pete, running at his heels for a henchman. They danced a rustic dance which turned into a play-fight with staves, and then into a mock battle. Masou climbed into a tree and was hanging by his knees, pelting the dancers with more sweetmeats, while little Gypsy Pete sat on the branch above him and sang in a beautiful high voice.

  Then the musicians played country dances, and the Ladies-in-Waiting and the older Maids of Honour stood up to dance with the Swedish gentlemen. And there was a great deal of giggling and flapping of eyelashes.

  Things got rather complicated later, when the huntsmen came by with the dogs, and the dogs spotted the sweetmeats on the ground. But the massive dogfight, which immediately exploded over the delicacies, was eventually sorted out, and the Queen laughed so much that nobody minded.

  We mounted again to ride back to the castle. Prince Sven rode ahead with his gentlemen, but the Earl of Leicester rode with the Queen. He was still apologizing until she tapped his head with her whip and told him to think of something nice and safe for her to do in the afternoon, since he was being such an old wonlan about the accident.

  And so that's what we're going to do forthwith. First we are having a rest and I am writing in my daybooke. Then we will enjoy a quiet excursion to save the Earl from worrying.

  Ha! That was what it was supposed to be—a gentle walk in the newly dug maze. But that's not how it turned out! I must quickly write this down before we go to see the fireworks.

  The Earl's garden maze is too new to be very tall yet, but the hedges are there, and there are statues dotted about on pillars in the Italian manner. And the beds have been dug with different-coloured earths, to be as bright as a tapestry.

  The Queen paced around the maze, arm in arm with the Earl, laughing at his jokes. He was telling her ridiculous tales of the troupe of players he patronizes, and how much they drink, and how not one of them has as much sense as a day-old chicken.

  We Maids of Honour were following behind at a discreet distance—me with John, who had offered his arm to support me. This time I remembered to hobble, so he gallantly led me to a bench where I could put my feet up, and offered to fetch me something to drink. My stomach had gone all strange again for some reason, and so I agreed and just sat there alone in a little open area.

  As I was waiting, the Queen walked into sight along one of the paths, and bent to sniff a damask rose that was growing near a big statue of a lion with two long tails—which is the badge of the Dudley family. Suddenly, with a tremendous crack, one of the tails fell right off the lion and plummeted towards the Queen!

  Thank the Lord, the Earl of Leicester glimpsed it just in time and pushed her aside.

  Being the Queen, she didn't squeal or anything, but the Earl was horrified. “Your Majesty, have you taken any hurt … ?”

  “No, none at all,” she replied. By God, that was a strange thing to happen.”

  “I shall have the gardener in the stocks tomorrow, or whatever fool put it up …,” the Earl blustered.

  The Queen was looking down at the fallen lion's tail with interest. Then she shrugged, and took the Earl of Leicester's arm again, and they walked on through the maze with the Earl apologizing all over again.

  John came hurrying up to me. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously. “I heard a crash. Were you injured?”

  “No,” I said. “It's quite strange—the lion's tail fejl off, just as the Queen was standing under it. But mercifully, she wasn't injured, either.”

  John offered me his arm and I limped away for all I was worth, until we found Mary Shelton, Lady Sarah, and Lady Jane by the exit, waiting for the Queen. John left me with them, and we waited until the Queen emerged from the maze, then went up to the parlour behind the Great Hall of the keep to have a little light supper before the evening's entertainments.

  I shouldn't really be writing this, what with getting ready for the fireworks. Mrs. Champernowne keeps complaining. “Come along now, Lady Grace,” she says. “Put your quill and ink away and make ready for the entertainments. You must not keep Her Majesty waiting!”

  The Queen is changing her clothes for warmer ones, but I am still in my black wool kirtle with the gold brocade trim and so have a little extra time to write this, despite Mrs. Champernowne's muttering.

  I can't wait to see the fireworks! I love them. The Queen likes fireworks, too, of course, which is why we have them so often. The Earl of Leicester organizes them for each Accession Day, on the seventeenth day of November, at Westminster. Everyone in London comes down the Thames in boats to enjoy them.

  It's wonderful to see fireworks by the water—you get them twice, once in the water and once in the sky. And Lady Sarah says we shall be on the lake to see these—one of the Earl's gentlemen told her. So, if I

  I had to stop in the midst of a sentence because miserable Mrs. Champernowne took my ink bottle away, which I think was very mean of her. She was saying I would make all the Maids of Honour late to meet the Queen—which is nonsense. But what a night it was! I can't believe so much has happened. I will write down as much as I can remember. Now, I'll start at the beginning so I don't get confused, and hope that my two candle-ends will last long enough.

  Prince Sven had obviously heard about the accident with the statue, because all the way down to the lakeside he was very solicitous of the Queen. Every time she passed a statue or a pillar in the gardens, he stood between her and it, so he could ward it off her, which made her l
augh.

  “I have gentlemen and to spare to guard my body,” she said. “But not enough well-looking princely suitors, so have a care for yourself.”

  Lady Helena translated this and Prince Sven bowed elaborately.

  “I cannot believe you are not besieged by every eligible Prince in Europe,” translated Lady Helena.

  “Oh, I am,” the Queen replied. “But are they well-looking?” She shook her head.

  The Earl of Leicester wasn't present to be annoyed by such flirting because he was too busy with the preparations.

  Sir William Cecil was fussing over news from Scotland, and the Queen was telling Prince Sven all about it—the scandal over Mary, Queen of Scots. Lady Jane and Lady Sarah think Mary is very romantic to risk losing her whole kingdom for love of the Earl of Bothwell. But her people are outraged about her murdering her husband to make way for him.

  The Queen thinks Mary is an idiot—and so do I.

  As we all processed down to the lake, John appeared out of nowhere, ignored Mrs. Champernowne's beady glare, and offered me his arm. I took it and made sure I limped a bit for him, but actually I've forgotten which ankle was bad now, which is a bit embarrassing. I hope he doesn't remember.

  We talked on the way—just about things like his work as the Earl of Leicester's henchman, a post which a cousin got for him only a few months ago, and how he helped with the wonderful new Hungarian greys my lord has bought for the Queen's stable.

  At the lakeside, he bowed very gallantly to me and said, “I must leave now, I have work to do for my lord. Enjoy the fireworks.”

  Lady Sarah laughed and nudged me. “Perhaps I should twist my ankle soon, Grace. I believe you have a suitor.”

  I replied, “Fie!” I really don't know why everyone has to make so much of it—John is just helping me while my ankle's sore. Well, it isn't, but he doesn't know that. He's being kind. We are friends. What would I want with a suitor? I'm not so silly as Lady Sarah I'm-so-pretty Bartelmy.