Mark Chadbourn - The Silver Skull

"This will be a fine night," Meg said. Her eyes shone when they fell on Nathaniel. "The king's festivities are lavish. I think he likes to take the opportunity to rebel against the preachings of the church."

"Yet still no queen," Nathaniel noted. "And he is ... twenty-two?"

Eyeing Nathaniel askance, Reidheid added with a strained note, "The king prefers the company of males. His advisors have struggled to find a suitable mate, but at least the damnable Earl of Lennox no longer exerts his influence over James."

"You know the court well," Will noted, "and you have some influence to gain an invite for a well-known English spy."

"Not influence enough. The king is suspicious of all beyond his immediate circle. The threats that preceded the forcible removal of Lennox from the king's company have made him wary of all. Indeed, he has moved to exert control over his lords. Yet I have been informed that the king was very keen to have you present."

Will raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"He has some concerns over mutual enemies. He is fearful of many things."

Will and Reidheid exchanged a glance while Meg and Nathaniel smiled at each other, oblivious. The carriage rattled past the last of Edinburgh's houses and the crowd of local people who had gathered to watch, to the wild, green land at the foot of the hills that surrounded the palace. The extensive gardens that James had remodelled when he took the throne overflowed with colourful blooms and the last strains of the day's bird-song filled the air. It was a far cry from the oppressive darkness of the city, and the filth and the crime. Yet the wilderness that stretched from the hunting grounds beyond the palace was disturbing in its own way, for it belonged to the Unseelie Court, and particularly after dark. To Will's eyes, the palace was an island extending into Enemy territory.

The building was much smaller than the Palace of Whitehall, though still imposing with its pale stone and red-tiled roof, towers and spires, and soaring diamond-paned windows that flooded the interior with light. Just behind it, to the south side, Will spied the solid bulk of the abbey, a brooding presence beside the bright palace.

There was already a queue of carriages passing through the gate in the wall to drop off the nobility under the protective arches of the large stone gatehouse on the west side of the palace. Once they had stepped down from their carriage to be greeted by a clutch of the king's busy but silent servants, Reidheid led Will, Nathaniel, and Meg through the gates to the quadrangle, a grassy area surrounded by the three-storey palace buildings, and from there to the State Rooms where the guests were gathered.

The court was big, almost six hundred people, swelled by the other guests, and the perfumed atmosphere was abuzz with conversation. Musicians played a masque specially composed for the occasion, with lutes, both bass and mean, a bandora, a double sackbut, a harpsichord, and several violins.

As Reidheid introduced Will around the room, the young wife of the Earl of Angus broke off from her conversation to be presented to Will. She looked him in the eye flirtatiously and smiled. "I have heard tell of your exploits, Master Swyfte, even here in Edinburgh, and I would know if they are true."

Will bowed and kissed her hand. "If all the stories about me were true, my Lady, I would be worn down upon my deathbed."

She laughed, her eyes twinkling. "How you evaded the Doge's men in Venice by disguising yourself as a Harlequin?"

"True, my Lady." Will hid his weariness at the familiar tranche of questions, smiled and nodded and answered several more.

"And how you have romanced all the women at the Court of Elizabeth?" She narrowed her eyes.

"I have not heard that story, my Lady," he replied.

As a ripple of excited conversation crossed the room when the king entered, she took the opportunity to lean in close and whisper in Will's ear. "I would hear more of your tales, Master Swyfte. Perhaps in a quieter place?"

Before Will could respond, the king swept towards Will under the guidance of an unsettled Reidheid, and the Earl's wife retreated with a knowing gleam in her eye.

"Master Swyfte, the king would speak with you in private," Reidheid said, clearly unused to such attention.

The king had inherited his mother Mary's red hair, but none of her good looks or sexual charisma. Slightly feminine in manner, he had a weak chin, a lazy eye, a prominent nose, and his lips pursed in a manner that suggested he was passing judgment, but as he spoke to his guests in passing, Will could see he had a ready intellect and a bright sense of humour.

Will bowed. "You honour me."

"Yes. I do." James gave a wry smile.

Will followed him to the edge of the room where Reidheid and James's aides kept a respectful distance so the conversation could be conducted privately.

"Master Swyfte, your reputation precedes you," James said.

"So I have just been told."

"I would say, firstly, that the execution of my mother at Fotheringhay last year was a harsh blow, `a preposterous and strange procedure,' as I pronounced at the time." He chose his words carefully, hesitating for a long time at the end of the sentence. "How strange was it, Master Swyfte?"

"It was in accordance with the law of the land."

"That is not my meaning." After a moment's consideration, he continued, "My mother acted strangely for many years. She was not herself, do you understand?"

Will did not respond.

"The circumstances surrounding her execution led me to believe that there was more to her death than perhaps even I knew."

"These are matters of state, and I am a lowly-"

"I know what you are," James interrupted sharply. "I know the business of Walsingham's men." He leaned in and whispered forcefully, "Do you think me blind to the terrible ways of the world, when I am surrounded by vile things that seek to threaten everything we have built?"

"We have an understanding," Will replied.

"But you do not understand what it is like here in Scotland, Master Swyfte." Emotion rose in James's voice and for a moment it looked as if he might cry. "You do not understand the trials we face, the suffering inflicted upon my people in secret. They feel themselves the victims of a harsh fate, plucked from their homes, murdered as they cross the glens and hillsides. If only they knew the truth!"

"Which is why they should never know."

James calmed himself, nodding. "Scotland needs aid, Master Swyfte. We need the defences you have established in England."

"That is not a matter for me-"

James held up his hand. "I know. And I know you have the ear of some of the highest in the land. If you could take word back with you-"

"There are proper channels for that communication."

"And yet they are always closed to me! England does not want to know of our suffering!"

"England has suffering enough of its own. It faces enemies on every side, and from within. Many, I might add, that have crept in from north of the border, from your own Catholic sympathisers, and through the connections you have with France."

James's expression grew taut. "We need the aid of England. One day, if Elizabeth passes without issue, I will be king of England, and then there will come a change. I will save my nation, Master Swyfte."

"We all wish to see the Enemy defeated. This is not a matter of nations, or religion. Those are distractions ... yes, that is tantamount to treason in some quarters, but it is the truth. We are a brotherhood of man, and we should stand together against the greater threat. Only by recognising our common values can we rise up from our knees."

James smiled with a touch of relief. "It pleases me that we share this common ground, Master Swyfte. Perhaps change will come in my lifetime. Perhaps-"