Andrew Swanston - The King's Spy

Halfway down the street, the abuse started. ‘Bit too tall for a queen’s dwarf.’

‘Must be one of the king’s bed boys.’

‘Have a care, sir. Be a shame to spoil those pretty rags.’

Thomas affected not to hear, and managed not to quicken his pace. It was broad daylight, there were people about and, for all they knew, he might be armed. He should be safe.

At Merton, he was met by a college servant bedecked in powdered wig in the French style, cream stockings, wide crimson breeches and an embroidered coat. The man wore a pearl and ruby brooch. Two lines of guards armed with muskets and swords stood on either side of the gatehouse. Thomas gave his name, and was shown to a seat at the far side of the courtyard. It was bigger than the Pembroke courtyard, but much smaller than Christ Church’s. The queen must have wanted the king to be untroubled by the preparations for the performance. Thomas nodded politely to the two portly gentlemen on either side of him, noting that, compared to theirs, his outfit was only just up to standard. The masque was not due to start for another ten minutes, but almost all the seats were already occupied. No one wanted to risk the embarrassment of arriving after their majesties. Thomas looked around, hoping to see Jane Romilly. She was not there. Perhaps she was taking part in the masque.

At exactly two o’clock, the king and queen entered the courtyard from the royal apartments. The audience rose and applauded loudly as the royal couple walked slowly to their seats on a raised dais to Thomas’s right. The seats were covered in gold cloth, with gold cushions and gold footrests. The king, limping slightly, walked with a stick. The queen, resplendent in satins and pearls, auburn hair curling around her neck, smiled and waved to the crowd. At her heels were four fat spaniels and a dwarf. Thomas guessed he was Jeffrey Hudson, known to be her favourite.

When the king and queen were seated, a herald called the audience to attention with a blast on his horn, and announced that the masque they were about to see was The Triumph of Peace , written by James Shirley, and first performed for her majesty in London nine years earlier. With due regard to cost and the sacrifices of her loyal subjects, her gracious majesty had commanded that this production be made suitable to the present time and place. The entertainment would therefore be modest, and would last but an hour. At this there was more applause, although whether this was in appreciation of her majesty’s concern for her subjects or the reduced length of the performance, Thomas was uncertain. He took another look around the courtyard. Still no Jane. The masque began.

From the Fellows’ Quadrangle behind Thomas, a procession of courtiers entered through a high arch, to joyous acclaim. There were perhaps twenty of them — Thomas guessed at a fifth of the number employed in the London production — fantastically dressed and bejewelled in costumes of crimson, blue and gold. Having proceeded in stately fashion around the courtyard, they took up station near the gatehouse. These magnificent courtiers were followed by a coach transformed into a golden chariot, and drawn by four matched white stallions in gold and crimson cloths. The chariot carried two lutenists, and four singers dressed as celestial bodies. Thomas recognized the sun and the moon, but the other two defeated him. The celestial bodies sang a fulsome eulogy to the king and queen, as their chariot cautiously circled the narrow courtyard.

Two more chariots, similarly decorated, followed, this time from the direction of the chapel. These, the herald told them, carried the spirits of Peace, Law and Justice, who descended from the chariots to honour the king and queen in speech and song. While they were doing so, a second troupe of courtiers entered the now rather crowded courtyard. These too wore a variety of dazzling costumes and headdresses. The herald helpfully informed the audience that these performers represented Opinion, Fancy, Jollity, Novelty, Confidence and assorted other qualities, as well as the customary tradespeople. One of them, who Thomas thought might be Jollity, was dressed as a morris dancer.

Poems and songs, all declaiming the many virtues of their majesties, and expressing the loyal wish that they be swiftly restored to their thrones in London, occupied most of the allocated hour. The finale, against the backdrop of a windmill, featured an elderly Don Quixote, his plump steward Sancho Panza and an unnamed knight. Between them, they staged a brief mock battle, much appreciated by the audience. As they left the courtyard, followed by the chariots and horses, the procession of musicians, singers and courtiers bowed low to the king and queen, and waved gaily to the delighted audience. It was hard to be sure, but Lady Romilly did not appear to be among them.

Despite the queen’s avowed sensitivity to the needs of her citizens, Thomas thought, the masque must have cost a tidy sum to stage. Taking his lead from his large neighbours, he rose and wandered into the middle of the courtyard. While their majesties, beaming and waving, remained seated, an army of servants arrived to clear away the seats of the audience, and to bring out from the college kitchens trays laden with claret and hock, pastries, fruits, sweetmeats and cakes. Thomas took a glass of hock and edged round the crowd towards the gatehouse. Not wanting to be drawn into discussion of the entertainment, or indeed of anything else, he planned to slip away unnoticed. He was about to make his escape when he glimpsed Jane Romilly. She was on the far side of the courtyard, deep in conver sation with a tall man in a dazzling blue coat and crimson breeches. Thomas peered through the crowd. It was Francis Fayne. Jane Romilly and Francis Fayne, and giving every appearance of being well acquainted. How unexpected — and how disappointing. He turned to go. Then, from behind him, a voice he knew at once said quietly, ‘Master Hill. I had not thought to meet you in such a place.’ She had seen him and walked over.

Thomas turned back, and took the outstretched hand. ‘Lady Romilly. An unexpected pleasure.’ Today she wore a pale blue skirt, embroidered, as before, with tiny flowers, and with a low neckline and narrow sleeves decorated with royal blue ribbons. Her black curls tumbled about her bare shoulders. The lady Thomas had chanced to meet in the street was a very beautiful lady indeed.

‘And how do you come to be at the masque, Master Hill?’

‘I was invited by Master Tobias Rush. No doubt you know him.’

Jane’s eyes narrowed. ‘Indeed I do, sir. You are well connected.’

‘Not really, madam. Master Rush is acquainted with my old tutor, Abraham Fletcher.’

‘I recall that you are visiting him at Pembroke. How is he?’

‘Blind, madam, and a little infirm, but his mind is as sharp as ever.’

‘And how long shall you be staying?’

‘That I am unsure of, madam. There are affairs that may detain me.’

‘I see. And what did you make of the masque?’ asked Jane, changing the subject.

‘I found it, ah, extraordinary.’

Jane laughed lightly. ‘Nicely put, sir. I am devoted to Queen Henrietta Maria, a gentle and pious lady, but her masques are indeed extraordinary. She was a dear friend to Master Rubens, you know, and to Inigo Jones, who designed the original set for The Triumph of Peace . Her majesty takes a great interest in the arts of painting and drama.’

‘Your devotion does you credit, madam.’ Thomas hesitated. ‘And I see you know Captain Fayne.’

‘Slightly. Oxford is not a large town and we all move in small circles. Captain Fayne and I have met before.’

‘Quite so. May I ask you a question?’

‘Certainly, sir, as long as it is a respectable one.’