"The Courtesan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tranter Nigel)

Chapter Ten

PATRICK was led through a garden and pleasance to a small side door at the extreme east end of the palace where, after a muttered exchange, a guard admitted them. His guide then conducted him, by a maze of passages, to a brightly lit and luxuriously appointed chamber, where instruments of music, embroidery-frames, part-worked tapestries and other signs of feminine occupation were evident, but which at this midnight hour was empty. Beyond was a spacious boudoir, all mirrors, with walls upholstered in quilted satin, in which a single weary elegant paced to and fro. He raised an eyebrow at the Master, sighed, and holding up a minatory finger as though to restrain further progress, turned and opened one of a pair of double doors, knocked gently on the inner one, waited, and then slipped within. When he emerged again it was to beckon the visitor forward, though with no expression of approval. He said no word.

A puff of warm and highly-scented air met Patrick as he passed into the chamber beyond. Just within the doorway he paused and bowed very low – although he could barely distinguish at first what lay beyond, so dim was the lighting. Here was a small room, panelled severely in dark wood, but with a large fire of logs blazing on the hearth – which, apart from only a couple of candles, provided all the illumination. A great bed with canopy and rich hangings occupied much of the apartment, but it was unoccupied. On a couch by the fire, a figure reclined, clad in the loose and very feminine folds of a flowing bed-robe.

'Come, Patrick,' a voice invited, low, companionable, warm as the room. 'This is better, is it not?'

'Immeasurably, Your Grace,' he replied, as easily. 'I rejoice in it.'

'Aye. But rejoice not too soon, my friend, nevertheless,' the Queen warned. 'Do not stand there, man, you were not always so backward! Come, sit here by me – for the night is plaguey cold.' Elizabeth was ever concerned about the temperature.

She did not however move aside on the couch on which she was extended, so that the man, to sit down thereon, must needs perch himself uncomfortably on the edge. He chose carefully to sit approximately half-way down, part-turned to face the Queen.

'Cynthia, Moon Goddess, Queen of the Night!' he murmured.

'And a match for Patrick, Master of… Darkness!' 'Match, aye – what a match, Madam, there would be!' 'Bold!' she said, but not harshly.

For a few moments there was silence, save for the splutter and hiss of the burning logs. The Queen drew up her knees a little, so that they pressed into the skin-tight silken hose of the man's thigh. He did not move away – indeed he could not have done so without leaving the couch altogether.

'Your Mary Gray is… remarkable, Patrick,' Elizabeth said presently. 'I vow I must congratulate you! My good Moor, Walsingham, misled me, I fear. For once. How old is she?'

'This was her seven teeth summer.'

'Ah! Seventeen? You were an early menace to poor foolish women then, Patrick – as of course you would be!'

'Perhaps. Or else their victim. But here was one indiscretion of youth that I have no cause to regret.'

'No? You are proud of her, then? You would not have brought her here else, of course. Proud… but wise? I wonder, Patrick? That one is too like yourself for your comfort, I think.

Take heed for yourself, my friend – for there is a will as strong as your own. And wits as sharp, I'll wager. Your Davy, who so long sought in vain to honest you, may have forged here sweet steel to tame you!'

'I beg leave to doubt it. But I am flattered indeed at Your Grace's interest in my humble person and affairs! It augurs well… '

'Tush, man – do not build on it! I am only the more wary.'

'Hence, dear lady, this so privy audience? Such wariness is a delight, indeed…!'

Sitting up, she leaned forward, and raising her hand, slapped the man's face – a sharp blow and no playful tap. 'Delight in that also, sir!' she jerked.

Not only did Patrick not draw back, but he did not so much as change expression or tone of voice. 'I do, fair Dian -I do! As I must delight also in what my happy eyes behold!' And coolly, deliberately, he looked downwards.

The Queen's face was very near to his own – for she had not sunk back into her reclining position after her blow. As a consequence of her forward-leaning posture, her bed-robe gaped wide before her, wholly revealing bare breasts, small but firm and shapely for her years, if flattered somewhat by the rosy uncertain flickering firelight. She did not move nor speak, although her lips were parted.

So they sat, close together, considering each other, understanding each other.

At length Elizabeth leaned back again, with a little sigh, and though she raised a slender white arm behind her turbaned head, she made no attempt to close up the front of her robe. Undoubtedly she wore nothing beneath it. Relaxed, she lay thus, a faint smile playing about her thin mouth.

The man reached out and gently took her hand. She allowed him to stroke her long tapering fingers, occasionally to run his own up over her wrist and forearm. Once she shivered slightly, and for a moment his fingers gripped tight before resuming their unhurried stroking once more. Somewhere a clock chimed half-an-hour past midnight.

'Blessed no-words, Patrick,' the Queen murmured, at length. 'I hear ever such a flood, a plague of words. So few may ever keep silent in my presence. Though you – you are eloquent indeed even in silence, my friend!'

He smiled only, and raised her finger-tips, ringless now, to his lips, and kissed each individually before turning her hand over and kissing the narrow palm. His caresses moved on, over wrist and up white forearm, so that it was his turn to lean close indeed. She permitted him to reach the region of her elbow, and therefore to be within an inch or two of her pale bosom, before her other hand reached out gently but firmly to grip his ear, restraining him.

'Linger a little, Patrick,' she murmured huskily. 'The night is young, yet.'

He raised his eyes to hers. 'You are no woman to linger over.'

Elizabeth smiled. 'Impatient!' 'Very, Diana!'

'Then… in that case, I have you where I want you, Master of Gray! Pleading! On your knees.'

'Have you not always?' he asked, and slipped down from the couch to kneel beside her. Still she held on to his ear.

'I think not, Patrick. Your mind seldom pleads, I swear. Nor are the knees of your heart apt for bending!'

'They bend to you, fair one.'

She nipped that ear between finger-nails, almost viciously. 'For what does your heart and mind plead, Patrick? Your heart and mind, I say, not… other parts?'

'Why is not that evident, indeed, Diana? All my parts are at one in pleading for… all of the loveliness before me.' He leaned still closer, against the pain of that ear, so that the warmth of her body actually reached his cheek.

'Liar!' she whispered. 'What did you come for, man?'

'I came because you sent for me, and because of the love I bear you – in hope.'

'Dolt! Not now. Why came you to me, from Scotland?'

Patrick drew a long breath, 'My prince sent me… at my own urgent behest,' he said.

'For what purpose?'

'Not the purpose for which I kneel here, Lady.' 'I wonder! Think again, Patrick. You are here for money, are you not? For golden coin, and nothing more! Wait, man wait! And if you can come to the money more surely, more swiftly, through my woman's weakness – then so much the better!'

'Your Grace – you wrong me! I vow you do – most sorely.'

'I think not. You use all men – and women, also – for your own ends, Patrick Gray. Always you have done so. But you will not use me, by God! Up off your lying knees, man! If you must kneel, go kneel to my Lord Treasurer!'

Slowly, reluctantly, Patrick rose to his feet. But he did not move away from the side of the couch. Nor yet did his beautiful features show any sign of emotion other than sorrow and a gentle reproach, allied with a hint of wonder.

'You brought me here, to your privy room – only to tell me this?' he asked.

'That – and to test you, sir.'

'Aye – and to tease me, I think,' he added, slowly. 'To torment my manhood. They do say that such makes sport of a sort for some women – half-women. But not, surely not, for the Queen of the Night!' And he sighed.

Elizabeth sat up abruptly, and whipped her bed-robe tight around her. 'How dare you, sir!' she said. But she seemed more put out than angry, searching his face in the flickering firelight.

'I would dare much for your favour, Madam – to banish your suspicions of me.'

'And to win my money, rogue! That damnable pension!'

'The money I seek only for my prince,' he told her. 'For that I would dare but little. Your esteem and regard I seek, for myself – and for that I would indeed dare all.'

'All, Patrick?'

'All.'

'Then dare you to go back to King James empty-handed, my friend. Dare to tell him that he must earn his own gold. Dare to tell him that my heir must be a true man and not a beggar! Dare that, and earn my esteem and love, Patrick Gray!'

'Aye, Lady – that I dare do. I shall do, if it is your wish. And come again. Another day. Happy day. To claim my… reward! Joyfully.' He stepped back a single pace.

Keenly, warily, the Queen looked at him. 'You would do this? So readily?'

'Why yes, Your Grace. For I am no beggar – save of your heart's warmth. Of which I felt the divine breath minutes ago. I agree entirely that pleading for this promised pension but harms the dignity of King James. Mine also, if I were to descend to it. I am glad to be spared that.'

'So-o-o!' He had Elizabeth tapping finger-nails on the edge of her couch now. 'You surprise me, Patrick.'

'Why so, Your Grace?' Almost casually he asked it, and turned to stroll round the back of the couch, so that she must needs turn her head to follow him with her pale eyes. 'Did you deem me happy in mendicancy? Riches have never been a love of mine – and assuredly I cannot prostitute myself for them on behalf of another, even my prince.'

She was silent for a little, but her glance never left his face. 'I still cannot believe that you are so readily dissuaded, Patrick Gray,' she said, at length. 'I think that I know you better than that.'

He sighed. 'My sorrow, that you so judge me, Diana. It is but a woeful end to what might have been the night of nights! A sorry farewell to carry away with me on my long journey.'

'Journey? You would ride, then? Forthwith? Back to Scotland?'

'Why yes, Highness. This very day, since it is now past midnight. Why wait? Such is my lord of Moray's intention, already…'

'You are plaguey quick, man, to get away from me!'

'Not so. It will be like plucking the beating heart out of my breast. But better that than teasing and disenchantment here. The sooner that I dare my prince's wrath for you, as you ask, the sooner I may return -1 pray, to your favour.'

'You think then that King James will permit you to return, in such case?'

Patrick actually laughed a little. 'Indeed it is next to certain, Lady,' he said. 'Why?'

'He is sore in need of siller, as we name it, for his marriage to the Princess Anne. For her Coronation, likewise. For the strengthening of his Royal Guard, that there be no more threats of abduction by lords who might seek to take him, or his queen, into their power. So, if the King gets it not from Your Grace, he must needs seek it elsewhere.'

Elizabeth snorted. 'And who else will give him so much as a single gold piece, man? Not the King of Denmark, I swear. James will be fortunate if he ever so much as sees his wife's dowry, from there!'

'Not Denmark, no. But it occurs to me that he might well turn to France. To King Henri, formerly Navarre.'

'Faugh, stupid – after rejecting Henri's sister Catherine of Navarre? There will be no French gold for James. Besides -would he send you again, Patrick, on such a mission? After returning empty-handed from this?'

'I think that he would, Madam. For only I have the information that he would need for success in it. Valuable information – that would make Protestant Henri look more kindly on my prince. And look askance elsewhere.'

'Eh? What information? What is this, sir?'

Patrick halted in his strolling round that bedchamber. 'Information that I have gleaned, Your Grace,' he said slowly. 'Information that will set Christendom agog! Notable information.'

'Well, man – well?'

'That the Queen of England is proposing to marry Protestant Lady Arabella Stewart, her cousin, to the Catholic Duke of Parma, Spain's Captain-General in the Netherlands, Butcher of the Low Countries!'

'Christ God!' the Queen exclaimed, almost in a croak.

'To be sure,' he nodded, smiling. 'Heigho, Highness -such information is worth… a king's ransom, is it not?'

Elizabeth was having difficulty with her breathing and with her words. 'How… fiend seize you, where… what a pox d'you mean…?'

'I have it, Lady, from a most sure source. Your good Moor, Walsingham, is not the only one with an ear for information!'

'It is a folly! A lie…'

'Folly, mayhap – but no lie. Of this I am assured. On excellent… authority!'

'Sweet Jesu – when I find who babbled…!'

'Be not distressed, Your Grace. I would not have Gloriana distressed for… for all the gold in Christendom! If this is something that you would keep privy. None need know, other than myself. Have no fears…'

Elizabeth's voice grated. 'It is done with. A plan that came to naught. That might have healed the breach with Spain. It is past. A thing of Hatton's…'

'But still… dangerous, Madam. Still a matter that could greatly concern King Henri. Or other Protestant princes. Arabella is next heir to the Scots throne after Ludovick of Lennox, her cousin. And therefore to your throne also, Lady. Matched with Catholic Parma, the Executioner – who was carried in a litter over the mutilated corpses of thousands of Maestricht's citizens! Here could be gunpowder beneath the chancellories of Christendom, indeed!'

'Silence! Damnation, man – hold your tongue!' The Queen's slender fists were clenched, and she beat them on her knee. 'How you learned of this – you of all men – I know not. Heads will fall, as a consequence, I promise you! But… no word of it must be so much as breathed. You understand? That is my royal command.'

'I understand Your Highness's feelings in the matter, yes. I can be silent, Diana – silent as the grave itself.'

'Aye. As you had better be! And the price of that silence, Master of Gray?'

He drew a long breath. 'Why, fairest one – nothing. Nothing, at all. Or, at least… very little!' He moved back to the side of the couch again, and stood looking down at her. 'For love of you, Diana, I would keep silence at the stake itself!'

'See that I do not test you in that, in the Tower or the Bridewell – Papist!' she said. 'What is this very little that you want?'

'First, your smile in place of your frown, fair one,' he asserted. 'That before all.' 'All…?' she repeated.

His little laugh was low-pitched, melodious and purely mirthful, as he sank down on his knees again, where he had knelt before. 'In certain matters, I am greedy indeed, Diana!' he told her, and reached for her hand.

'And I, sir, in those things may well be… parsimonious!' she returned. But, after a moment's hesitation, she did not withhold her hand.

'That I will not believe,' he said, shaking his head. 'Let us essay the matter, Your Grace…?'

Although Patrick was very quiet in entering his own chamber later that night, Mary heard him, and jumping out of bed came through to him.

'You have been long,' she said. 'Have you been with the Queen? All this time?'

'Aye,' he nodded. 'You should be asleep, girl.'

'What was this, Uncle Patrick? Why did she send for you? At such an hour. After dismissing us so?'

'Because she is a strange woman, Mary. Strange and cunning. And she thought that she could best me. Test me and best me. The Master of Gray!'

'And did she?'

'She tested me, yes. But I do not think that she bested me.' And he smiled.

She searched his face gravely. 'I would like to hear how that was done?' she said. 'You saw her alone?'

'Oh, yes. But now is not the time for the telling, lass. You should be sleeping. It is only a few hours to dawn – and we have a long day ahead of us. We must by no means sleep late.'

'Tomorrow? Why?'

'Because, my dear, I much respect Sir Francis Walsingham! The sooner that we are on our road back to Scotland, the happier I shall be!'

'Walsingham? Scotland? We are going home? Tomorrow? With my lord of Moray? After all?'

'Aye. Just as soon as I deem the Lord Treasurer to be out of his bed!'

'The Lord Treasurer? And Walsingham? I do not understand.'

'I hold, moppet, a note in the Queen's own hand, ordering the Lord Treasurer to pay me?2,000, being King James's increased pension. I have a notion that Walsingham would by no means approve – and as I say, I have a respect for him and his methods. I prefer to be well on my way back to Scotland before he finds out. And as you know, he is very well informed.'

'So-o-o!' the girl breathed out. 'You have done it! You have the pension – and doubled it! You have succeeded in your mission, after all? I wonder… I wonder how you did that, Uncle Patrick?'

'Shall we say that I used the gifts the good God gave me? Now – off to bed again, child, and let me to mine.'