Michael Moorcock - Gloriana

Cold light, entering from high windows in the domed roof, made the Audience Room brilliant. Each window contained a rainbow of coloured glass: abstract patterns as complicated and geometrical as snowflakes. There were no areas of shadow anywhere in the great circular chamber, save behind the throne, where curtains hid the door by which, on ceremonial occasions, Gloriana entered. The door led also to her Withdrawing Room. Panelled and bearing chiefly pastoral scenes in light colours (greens, blues and browns), the walls were white and silver, curving up to join the roof. Six doors gave the Throne Room a deceptively hexagonal appearance, and across these, too, were curtains, some in plain colours, some of tapestry. Footmen stood at the main doors, which were tall and double and painted like the panels, and through them now came venerable Dee, white-bearded, in scholar’s cap and gown, charts under arm, spectacles like a badge of office on nose, bowed at the shoulders as if by knowledge, yet almost the height of the Queen herself, entering the Audience Room in the wake of his sovereign to see that she held private court, for there was no one present but Una, Countess of Scaith, smiling in blue, and Lord Montfallcon, massive and stony, who seemed unusually agitated and unwilling to be present.

Queen Gloriana was settling herself in her padded throne of gold and marble, her outline clarified by the pure light from above, her face framed by her high collar of wired gauze, her golden velvet kirtle winking with all the tiny jewels set into it. “You’ve brought your diagrams, Doctor Dee?”

He waved them. Lord Montfallcon rubbed rapidly at his nose and looked from Queen to magus. In common with most of his contemporaries he regarded Dee as a charlatan-his appointment as Councillor of Philosophy a woman’s folly. Montfallcon was aggressively sceptical of Dee, and Dee in turn was almost entirely amused by the Chancellor’s scepticism.

“You promised to describe your cosmological theories in detail,” the Queen reminded Dee, “and the Countess of Scaith would hear them. Lord Montfallcon is invited in an effort of ours to broaden his mind.”

The Lord Chancellor grunted and sighed. “I would remind Your Majesty that I have urgent duties. Poland….”

“Of course. We’ll detain you a few moments.” She looked towards the great filigree silver clock on the distant wall facing the throne, and seemed to sway in time with the pendulum, as if mesmerised. With neat fingers, she pulled a petticoat in place, gestured for Una to seat herself in the chair at the side of the dais, enquired with an eyebrow of Lord Montfallcon if he’d take the chair on the other side, shrugged when he shook his head and smiled upon her magus. “Do you require assistance with the charts?”

Dee wiped moisture from his brow. The room was heated from pipes below the flagstones, in the Roman manner. “A boy?”

“Lord Ingleborough’s page is here, awaiting his master’s return.” She pointed toward a scarlet curtain half-hiding a polished door. “There.”

The Countess of Scaith rose. “I’ll fetch him.” She crossed to the curtain, pulled open the door. “Ah, it’s Patch.”

A sweet voice from the page. “Good morning, your ladyship.”

“Join us please, Patch.” Una spoke warmly. There were few at Court who were not charmed by Lord Ingleborough’s boy.

In came Patch, elegant and tiny, in a suit of dark green, with ruff and cape, all green; green cap in hand. His curls were cut short and were almost white. He bowed prettily and looked at Doctor Dee with large brown eyes that were courteous and intelligent.

“Master Patch, please aid the Doctor.”

“Sir?” Patch presented himself to Dee and seemed unembarrassed when the magus reached out exceptionally long fingers to pat his head.

“Good boy, Patch.”

Doctor Dee looked about him, sighted a sideboard, and went to place the majority of his charts upon it; he selected one and returned to the foot of the dais. “Take an end, lad. There.” Cheerfully Patch obeyed. “Move away a little. Excellent.” They unrolled the chart and stood with it between them, displaying it to the Queen, who, in concert with the Countess, bent forward, while Lord Montfallcon looked steadily and somewhat longingly at the door to the Privy Chamber.

The Queen’s scent reached Doctor Dee’s nostrils and he felt his old knees tremble. For twelve years he had loved her, lusted after her. There had been hardly a moment, even during his most profound contemplations, when he had not desired her; but he lacked the means to tell her. For so long had he been regarded as a sage, a mentor, a metaphysician, that he had been trapped entirely in his role, did not dare leave it for fear of disappointing her. He loved her too much to risk such disappointment. O, Madam, he thought, if only I could disguise myself one night, as a devil, as a rogue, to creep into your bedchamber and bring you what you yearn for. What we both yearn for, by the gods… . He realised that she was asking a question. “Madam?”

“These spheres?” she said. “All these circles intersecting. There are other worlds, eh?”

He peered upon his own charts. “Yes, madam (why must she rustle so seductively?), the broad diagram-not specific, but to show the theory. The central sphere is ours, though no more central than our own in the universe we know-these others are (those brows!) representative of worlds which exist in parallel to our own (ah, and in one Dee must be the master, you the slave) and mirror our own, perhaps exactly perhaps only in approximate detail, some with continents where our seas are, or with dominant beings descended, perhaps, from apes-anything imaginable…”

“How are these worlds reached, Doctor Dee?” Lord Montfallcon challenged. “Where have you seen them?”

“I have not seen them, my lord.”

“You know travellers who have? Mariners?”

“Not mariners, but perhaps-yes, travellers…”

“They came by ship?”

“Most did not, my lord.”

“By land?” Lord Montfallcon threw back his shoulders, prepared for further conflict.

Queen Gloriana laughed. “Hush, Lord Montfallcon.” She was delighting in this unusual pettiness on the part of her greatest minister. “You are a bad scholar, sir!”

“I wish to know, madam"-heavily, turning to her-"for it is my business to protect your Realm. Therefore I must be wary of all possibilities of attack.”

John Dee smiled. “I think there’s little chance these worlds threaten our security, my lord.”

“In no way at all, Doctor Dee?” Lord Montfallcon glanced significantly at the magus.

“I can think of none.” Innocently.

“You waste your own time and ours, my lord.” Gloriana became gently impatient. “These are but the Doctor’s theories.”

“Based on certain evidence, however, Your Majesty,” muttered Dee.

“Of course…” She picked up her sceptre.

“How do these travellers reach our shores?” Lord Montfallcon became more stubborn as the smiles around him broadened.

“The spheres, I believe, occasionally intersect. When that occurs, they come willy-nilly, through no intention of their own. At least, most of them do. Others, by the practice of certain arts unknown to us, come deliberately, perhaps. But, sir, we move too far from what I present as a pure idea, nought else. Plato himself suggests-”

Lord Montfallcon let a breath loose from between his teeth. He put a hand to his belt. “I am not obtuse, I think. I have studied the classics. I have a reputation, moreover, for subtlety, yet I still do not understand!”

“You do not will it so, that’s all. (Oh, this dolt knows what I am feeling! He is aware that the only knowledge I truly desire is the knowledge of her high-strung flesh…. ) I suggest, Your Majesty, that we pursue this discussion at another time.”