And this, because of the previous reference to the plague, seemed like a good joke of the Queen’s at her own expense. Their enthusiastic merriment rang in her ears and she listened to their compliments and smiled, as if the joke had been deliberate, noticing that Oubacha Khan and Lord Shahryar in particular were looking at her shrewdly, misjudging vagueness for irony and believing themselves to have received a fuller impression of her character, since neither had recognised the deliberate ironies she had offered during their formal encounters. This amused her and she was forced to disguise it, to give undue attention to the servant who poured her fresh wine.
How I wish my Una were here, returned from Scaith. There’s a consort for a Queen! Should I change the Law and marry the Countess? Una and I could rule better together. I wish she would take more power. I miss you, Una….
She looked up. Near the end of the table was the battle-suited Sir Tancred Belforest, creaking to his feet, aided by Lady Mary Perrott, whose loss from her bed Gloriana now began to regret. Not long since Lady Mary had played boy for the Queen with enthusiasm. Now she played demoiselle to Tancred’s sober chevalier, apparently delighting in his clumsy innocence; in love with him. Gloriana felt a threat or two of jealousy winding through her half-drugged heart and, disgusted by her ignoble thoughts, dismissed the sensation, though it was not Sir Tancred she envied, but Mary, who had found a focus for her faith in a single individual.
“Your Majesty,” began Sir Tancred, his red face glowing from within its case of steel, his unruly moustache bristling, his huge plumes dancing, “as Your Majesty’s Champion, as Albion’s Champion, as Defender of the Queen’s Honour, I offer my sword to you.” He, the only one present allowed to carry a large weapon, dragged the heavy ornamental broadsword from its scabbard of Iberian enamel-work, and held it upright by the blade. “And I beg leave to challenge any one of these present who would insult Your Majesty or Albion’s name.” He paused, for he was considerably drunk. Gloriana loved him, then. “To a tourney at arms-sword, mace, lance or any other honourable weapon-to the point of grave wounding or death.”
Gloriana became a Queen, clear-voiced and kindly. “We are grateful for this display of loyalty, Sir Tancred, which is inspiring and worthy of the Court of the Bear and the Great Age of New Troy, when Chivalry was at its height. And should there come a time when we are insulted here, we shall command you to avenge that insult by force of arms. In the meanwhile we pray you to conserve your energies for the May Day Tilt.”
Sir Tancred blinked. “But, Your Majesty, there’s more than one here, tonight, who has so insulted you!”
“We heard no insults, Sir Tancred-only innocent jests. We all make merry and forget formality, for we are good friends at this table.”
Oubacha Khan turned eagerly to look up into Sir Tancred’s frowning face, murmuring: “Honour. Aye, honour.” He fingered the pommel of his little dress dagger.
Sir Tancred opened his mouth again, but was tugged by his paramour from behind, by a strap, and sat down with a sudden crash.
Oubacha Khan murmured very softly to the Lady Yashi Akuya, who nodded rapidly, even though she made out only half his words. “Thus are even the brave and the honourable turned to milksops by this overloving mother.” He looked across the table at Lord Shahryar and they exchanged mutually knowing glances.
Gloriana, recalled to diplomatic duty by the incident, singled out Lord Kansas. “You have been adventuring, far from Virginia, so I hear, my lord?”
“To the East Indies, madam, and to the interior of Africa, wherein I discovered several new nations ruled over by mighty kings, who treated me with great hospitality and sent their greetings to Your Majesty.” He spoke with modest, civilised good humour, conscious of his expected role.
“You must give them our greeting in return, my lord, if you should ever venture that way again. And there were savages, too, were there not?”
“Many tribes of them, madam. But again we were well and courteously received. I found the chiefs of these tribes as good company as any civilised man!”
“They are less restricted by formality and ritual, perhaps?” said she.
“On the contrary, madam, they seem to have more ceremonies and rituals than we do-though such things are not always recognised for what they are by those who practice them.”
“True, Lord Kansas. You learned their tongues?”
“One or two, madam. I discoursed with their priests and their wise men. It is fairly said, madam, that while Man’s store of knowledge increaseth, his wit doth not. So is the savage equal to the civilised sage.”
“Well put, Lord Kansas!” She liked the long-faced, wry man with his dark-tanned, leathery skin, his simple Virginian Stoic costume (it had been Stoics who had settled Virginia originally) and his air of tolerance. She considered him for a lover. She went further, and considered him for a husband. For she must take a husband, soon. Though Lord Shahryar’s remarks were resented, they voiced the thoughts of everyone there who valued Albion’s continuing security. But to take a husband who could not please her, for whom she must also give up her Quest, would be madness. If she gave up her Quest, she felt, she gave up Belief-and Albion would have a hollow symbol that would crumble, causing the very structure of the State to crumble. She had a vision of Albion in flames, with thick black smoke drifting from coast to coast, from ocean to ocean of the Empire-of cruel war, carnage and waste. It was a vision instilled in her since she had been a child, by her mentor, Lord Montfallcon. It was a vision that would come true if once she forgot her Duty. And now all were agreed where her Duty lay-in marriage….
But they do not realise how weak I am. I cannot maintain this responsibility forever. If I marry I shall share my burden but cease to be Gloriana. And unless I remain Gloriana, Albion’s endangered. Or does it matter? Perhaps I should proclaim Albion a Republic? But no, this would make both commoners and nobles despondent and weaken us, making us vulnerable to our enemies. Republics are born of necessity, not morality.…I must remain true to my
instincts and my Duty. Or should I, like the Princess in the fairy tale, make it known that I shall marry the first Prince to bring me to fulfillment, or marry Arabia, utilising my energies to make war on Tatary, on Poland, on the rest of the world? To turn those energies, as Father did, into a kind of awesome, horrifying Art, bringing the turmoil of the liver and the heart, the kidneys and the brain, to the whole Realm, forcing it to reflect and feel the anguish he felt and which I inherit. No! For I swore this would never be-this need of mine must always be private and privately must it be satisfied…. Only twice did Father succeed in finding private release and, by his first action, created me, while by his second he placed his burden upon my womb as firmly as Montfallcon placed the public burden upon my head when, four years later, he supervised my coronation….
The table had become a road again, the heads on either side so many carrion birds waiting to pick at her corpse. Firmly she drove the images away Such images had belonged to her father as he grew increasingly insane, seeing every eye accusing him, every voice imploring him for a portion of his fragile substance, until, to close the eyes and still the voices, he had turned more and more to desperate murder in the guise of Justice. Thus had Lord Montfallcon’s family perished, thus Lord Ingleborough’s brothers and his father, thus Sir Thomasin Ffynne’s mistress and son-whole households, whole villages had been slain. If he had lived, King Hern might have executed the population of Albion to the last baby, in an effort to deny the guilt he suffered for his rejection of Duty. And then Montfallcon, who had consoled himself with this ambition through all the terror and the danger, who had maintained his own sanity by making her his Faith, had crowned her Queen, announced a new Golden Age, named her a modern, female, pacific Pericles, named her Justice, Mercy, Love, Pity and Hope, and banished Chaos, overnight, from Albion-brought Light to Albion, Trust to Albion, Truth and Dignity to Albion, across all the lands of her Empire-and Queen Gloriana the First, within five years of her rule, received all the credit for this transformation, while Montfallcon, made shy and reserved by habit and from character, still posed, when necessity demanded, as the Devil of the Past.