“Tell me first how I came to own it.”
It seems that princess Floria had not understood my reticence on the day of Lord Utterback’s memorial, and had thought that I was conspiring with the others to hide some great secret about the battle at Exton Scales, something to the detriment of Utterback, or the Knight Marshal, or some other great figure. Intrigued by this seeming mystery, she had contrived to interview some of the officers, including Lipton, and these had spoken of my own part in the battle.
“Deploying the men while Utterback was off meeting the enemy, rallying the cavalry as they came back scattered, fighting in the line, leading two attacks by the dragoons on Clayborne’s artillery, defeating one of the Gendarmes in single combat, horse to horse . . .”
“I hardly did that!” I said.
“Youngster, I saw you. You bowled over that armored yaldson and danced your courser over him as neat as if you were in a horse-ballet.”
“That was Phrenzy,” said I, weakly.
Wine had filled Lipton with eloquence. He gestured broadly and continued his inventory of my martial achievements. “And then of course, fighting all day in the line, and bringing up the reserve company in the nick of time, and at the very end rallying the men beneath the guns to keep the cannon from falling into the hands of the enemy . . .”
Which was not why I had done it, but my own intentions scarcely seemed to matter in the larger scheme of Lipton’s grand narrative.
“So, after her highness spoke to me, and to some of the others—Snype, Ruthven, Lord Barkin, even Frere after I assured him that there was no court conspiracy involved—she thought you well deserved a reward.” He spread his hands. “And now you have a knighthood, as do Ruthven, Barkin, and Frere, and that—beyond exercising my genius in the serving of the guns at Exton Scales—was the best afternoon’s work of my life!”
“How is it that you avoided a knighthood for yourself?” I asked.
He laughed. “I am a mere mechanical; what do I need with a coat-of-arms? I am content with my two bottles of claret, sure, though I will take the manor if you don’t want it.” He prodded me on the arm. “It is a gentleman who wants a shield on his carriage, and that gentleman, youngster, is now yourself.”
It would be dishonest to say that I did not feel a flush of pleasure at hearing all this, but what gratified me more than anything was learning of the testimony of my comrades.
“How do I thank them all?” I asked. “They cannot all be satisfied with bottles of claret.”
“They have all got their rewards. And I have got somewhat myself, for if you look toward the bottom of the list, you will see I am awarded two hundred royals. It will come as a bill on the treasury, sure, but I may hope to profit by it in time.”
“I will redeem it at full value.”
“Bless you, youngster!” He raised his glass. “And so we have come to the land of happy endings, sure.”
I eventually understood Wenlock’s strange remark about the statue. Rather than reward the count with more land, or a title ranking above that which he held, the Queen had decided to erect an equestrian statue of Lord Utterback in one of the town squares. Wenlock, it seems, had sacrificed his son, not for the advancement and riches he expected, but for a statue. That the statue would assure that Lord Utterback would be remembered for generations was of little moment. Wenlock could have bought a statue for himself for much less than he had spent on the Utterback Troop.
I heard also that he was preparing to sue for a divorce in the House of Peers. He required a new heir, and his wife was past the age of childbearing—he needed a young girl, and he was already inquiring after the daughters of his friends.
Eventually, I learned where Hurst Downs lay, which was in Bonille, along the stretch of the south coast between Bretlynton Head and Melcaster. The size of the grant, and the state of the manor of Dunnock, were unknown, and I must visit the place to discover its boundaries and condition.
Indeed, it was time to deal with a great many matters, none of them in Howel. The war being over, Lady Tern and Royal Stilwell would find employment returning troops to Selford, and then would be returned to their owners, which is to say Kevin and myself. Sea-Holly would have similar convoy duty, but ere long, new cargoes would have to be found for her.
I also felt that I was justified in returning to Ethlebight, not as a man who had failed at everything he attempted, but as the great hero Sir Quillifer.
But first I hunted down Frere, Snype, and Lord Barkin—Ruthven had already gone home—and I thanked them and toasted their own success. That done, there was one more person to thank. As I attended the various celebrations for Priscus and the Queen, I often saw Floria, but she was always surrounded by ladies and lords and guards, and I could not manage an interview. Eventually, there was nothing to do but put on my lawyer’s gown and my apprentice cap, travel to Ings Magna, and find her in the palace.
It was a day when no celebrations were scheduled in the city, and the Queen was at home. No one prevented me from entering the Chamber of Audience, which was a beautiful, sun-filled, warm room, filled with brilliant silk hangings and carved with wonders and phantasmagoria, a delightful contrast to the cold, gloomy Great Reception Room in Selford. Neither the Queen nor Priscus were present, though I saw some gentlemen of Loretto strolling through the room, their bodies curved like willow wands. I found the princess right away, walking with some of her ladies before a tapestry of the Compassionate Pilgrim delivering his wisdom to his followers. I approached and bowed. She looked at me with a stern expression.
“Don’t expect any ceremony,” said Floria. “The Queen isn’t about to tap you with a sword. And you’re not in one of the great knightly orders or anything; you’re a plain knight bachelor.”
“I’m sure it’s more than I deserve,” said I.
“Her majesty is cross with me for adding those names to the honors list,” said the princess. “I might have implied that I did so at her command—that is what is said, though for myself I cannot remember.”
“Who was it who suggested the statue?”
A slight smile touched her lips. “My memory remains fallible on that point. Perhaps you should take my arm and remind me where to put my feet.”
Having the little princess on my arm made me feel very like a broad-shouldered ban-dog trotting in the company of a spaniel. I had to shorten my steps to avoid dragging her across the floor. Her ladies fell back a few paces to give us a degree of privacy.
“I must thank you once more, highness,” said I. “You saved my life, and now you have offered me honors.”
“I have not heard that you have acted otherwise than to uphold the Queen’s authority and dignity,” Floria said. “Her majesty will realize this in time, has she a moment or two for reflection.”
I thought that Berlauda did not seem to have a particularly reflective character, but did not say so.
“In the meantime,” said I, “Her majesty seems to dislike me. The last time she saw me, she called for the Yeoman Pregustator.”
Floria gave a sharp little laugh. “Perhaps some women are immune to your charms.” She gave me a sidelong look. “Certainly, the Marchioness of Stayne was not.”
I felt myself straighten. “I assure you that—”
“Oh, be silent!” she said. “I saw how she looked at you. At court we call her Lady Languid—but Lady Languid she was not, not when she gazed at you. And of course, there was the aftermath, with the husband trying to have you murdered.” Again she looked at me sidelong. “A case I have reason to remember well.”
I felt my mouth going dry. “I hope the gossip of the court does not—”
“No,” she muttered. “It does not. No one conceives Lady Stayne would so debase herself as to lie with a Butcher’s son.” She gave that sharp laugh again. “Sometimes, I think I am the only person here with eyes.”