This Scepter'd Isle (6 page)

Denoriel stepped forward and took the rein from the man's hand. He stroked Miralys's soft nose, with care not to allow his hand to pass through the illusion of the bit with reins attached. The reins were real enough—they had to be for situations like this—but they were attached to a loose noseband that Miralys could discard if necessary.

Naturally Miralys wore no bit. Any head furniture at all had been a matter of considerable negotiation, but its lack could not be explained in the mortal world. Miralys either had to wear something or not take part in Denoriel's venture. That would mean Denoriel would have had to ride a real horse. Everyone, especially Miralys, considered that too dangerous, not so much because Denoriel would be unable to manage a stupid, mortal beast, but because he might forget he was riding one and expect from it things Miralys would do.

Actually Denoriel was rather grateful to Norfolk's groom because his innocent remarks confirmed the reason for one of Denoriel's peculiarities—unsaddling and grooming his own horse. It had rather horrified George Boleyn and his friends that Lord Denno would stoop to groom's work. They had been equally annoyed when Denoriel wouldn't offer to let them ride Miralys. Fortunately on such a brief visit unsaddling was not required. All that needed to be done for a horse's comfort was to loosen the girth.

Denoriel swung into the saddle and when Boleyn was mounted, moved off with him down the approach to the park gates. "And was your meeting with Norfolk successful?" he asked in a tone that was more polite than interested.

Boleyn laughed. "Sorry about Norfolk sending you off like that. We weren't really talking secrets. He's got an exaggerated idea of his importance and considers all foreigners dangerous. Well, if you'd been French or Spanish there might be some sense to it, but I doubt Hungary's in the least bit interested in the internal politics of England."

"Poor Hungary has little ability to be interested in anything with the Turks squeezing out her life," Denoriel said, "but I did not mind being sent away at all, to tell the truth. I cannot say that
I
am particularly interested in political squabbles in England. Oh, England is my refuge and I wish it to do well in every way. I will take up arms to fight for England if the country is threatened, but I have no knowledge and no influence so I could not help you in a political maneuver. And being sent away, ever so politely with young Harry, gave me a chance to look more closely at the gardens. Beside that I like the boy. He's a nice child."

"FitzRoy . . . oh, I mean Richmond. Yes, he is."

They paused to allow the gatekeeper to open one of the iron-bound leaves for them, Denoriel holding back until Boleyn was well ahead and then bolting through in one leap so he and Miralys would be exposed for as short a time as possible to the baleful influence of the black metal. Fortunately the area had been wide enough that the illusion of the bit in Miralys's mouth did not break. The elvensteed was beside Boleyn in two strides.

"Richmond," Denoriel repeated. "That seems so strange to me, to heap so many honors on a six-year-old child—Knight of the Garter . . . a six-year-old knight? Earl of Nottingham, Duke of Somerset, Duke of Richmond. Really, Boleyn, I thought I was coming to understand England, but this leaves me completely dumbfound."

George Boleyn sighed with complete sincerity. "It is because the queen could never give King Henry an heir," he explained. "And now—"

Now, as Denoriel knew well, she never would. Not with the king growing openly discontented with her company—and seeking other beds. Such as Elizabeth Blount, FitzRoy's mother, and George Boleyn's own sister, Mary.

"But the queen and king
do
have an heir, the Princess Mary."

No hesitation or inflection in Denoriel's voice betrayed his memory of the cold wash of revulsion that had passed through him when he had made his bow with others to Princess Mary. The reaction seemed dreadfully unfair. She was a sweet-faced child with a pleasant manner and a marked skill in music. She had even been a red-haired baby, although now her hair was a dull auburn. But Mary's face had never worn the engaging scowl Denoriel had seen on the infant in King Henry's arms, there was no power in her, as there had been in the babe, and the frisson of withdrawal from her hinted she was the antithesis of the ruler who would usher in a golden age for England.

Boleyn made a dissatisfied sound and Denoriel asked, "Why do you not like her? She is healthy and clever. She even has a royal air about her, young as she is. What is wrong with Princess Mary?"

If Denoriel had hoped for some light to be cast upon why
he
did not like the princess, he would have been disappointed. However, he had no such hope. He already knew that George Boleyn had no trace of Talent, although his father, Sir Thomas, did, and so did his youngest sister Anne. George would not have been responding to whatever repelled Denoriel about Princess Mary, but he could possibly explain just how much of a threat she was to the welfare of the Sidhe.

Boleyn's lips pursed. "She is a girl."

Denoriel frowned. "That is all? Is there some law in England as there is in France forbidding a woman to rule? Hungary had a queen once, and the country flourished."

That was not strictly true, but Denoriel had discovered that George Boleyn and his circle were profoundly ignorant of any history but their own, and not
too
proficient in that. To his mild consternation, for his knowledge of Hungarian history was superficial, Boleyn looked strongly interested.

"Is that so? Who did she marry? Did he influence her rule?"

"Marry?" Denoriel hastily sought through what he had been told by Jenci Moricz, who had been induced to come from Elfhame Csetate-Boli to Elfhame Logres to give him a quick course in Hungarian history and social customs. "It was a long time ago," he protested mildly. "I'm not very sure, but I think she married the man who had been betrothed to her by her father. Sigismond, he was called."

"Ah, yes, but what I really want to know was who ruled?"

Denoriel laughed. "It was some two hundred years ago. I did not live there then. They were called joint rulers, but I suspect that it was Sigismond that ruled because Queen Maria died after about fifteen years and Sigismond continued to rule for many years more."

"Ah ha!" Boleyn nodded vigorously. "That was what I thought and that is exactly what King Henry opposes. If Princess Mary becomes his heir she will have to marry a prince of a foreign country. To marry other than the reigning prince or the heir apparent, would be to demean England's honor. Yet, if Princess Mary marries the reigning prince, he will doubtless rule England as well as his own land and England would become no more than a conquered state, although no war had been fought."

So
, Denoriel thought,
that is a way that Spain could come to rule England without war.
If Mary married a Spanish prince and the people came to accept him or were so cowed they could not rebel . . . and then Mary died. Then Spain might continue to rule.

"Then why could she not marry one of her own noblemen?" Denoriel asked. "Surely he would be less important than she, and she would hold all the power."

"That would also demean the crown of England, but there is another danger there," Boleyn said, and Denoriel was surprised at the shrewdness of his expression. "Wives often become attached to and dependent upon their husbands. King Henry fears that any noble house from which a husband was chosen for Mary would soon wield far too much influence over all the rest of us."

"Hmmm." Denoriel considered that while the horses began to stretch into a trot. "There is sense in that," he agreed after a moment.

They rode southeast now on a well-traveled road. Denoriel felt as if they were hardly moving. With some difficulty he restrained himself from urging Miralys faster, reminding himself that Miralys was pacing himself so as not to stress Boleyn's horse. He saw that Boleyn was staring ahead, chewing on his lower lip and decided to distract him. He really did not want to know what Boleyn's business was, as it could not concern the red-haired child.

"But George, I do not see what King Henry's dissatisfaction with his heir has to do with loading such heavy honors on a six-year-old child."

"FitzRoy . . . ah, Richmond, is male," Boleyn said. "When
he
marries, he will rule no matter what his wife's heritage."

"But he is not legitimate," Denoriel protested, not because that had any meaning to him but because he remembered the suppressed fear and passion with which the boy had announced he did not wish to be king.

Sidhe sometimes took life companions, but by and large they loved until they tired of one another and then parted. In any case, even if they chose to use the seldom invoked state of legal binding, which mortals called marriage, that had nothing to do with children. A child, no matter how conceived, was a blessing to be cherished more highly than any other thing in Underhill.

Bolen nodded agreement with Denoriel's remark, then shrugged. "Well, there is good precedent for bastards ruling England, William the Bastard, who is now often called 'the Conqueror,' being the best known example. Still that is why the king is moving slowly, indicating what might be his preference by the honors but not yet naming the boy his heir. He wishes to discover how his people react to the idea."

Denoriel shook his head and then hurriedly put up a hand to stabilize the large, floppy hat that would hide his ears if some encounter with cold iron should break the round-ear illusion. He had had to abandon his favored clothing for garments that were fashionable at court. The stylish clothes together with his skill as a swordsman and the quality of his horses—Miralys in several different colors and lengths of mane and tail—had gained "Lord Denno" of Hungary a place within the circle of Henry VIII's friends.

"I don't understand," he admitted, laughing. "I don't think I want to understand. Let me enjoy riding about the country and hunting with you, George, and looking at gardens. Do not trouble my head with politics."

Several weeks later Denoriel came to Windsor again on one of his regular, if secret, visits. He dismounted and Miralys disappeared into the little copse opposite a long-forgotten postern gate in the wall around Windsor Palace's gardens. He listened for a moment, but there was no human sound nearby. The gate yielded to his touch—he had, at the cost of a sick headache that resisted Mwynwen's best efforts at Healing for three days—removed the iron lock and substituted a blackened silver imitation that had only an illusion for wards and was sealed with magic.

As far as the safety of Windsor, his substitution was an improvement. No thief, no assassin, could open his lock as, with patience and skill, such a man might have opened the iron one. For his purposes, it saved the chance of raising questions in anyone's mind about the frequency of his visits to young Harry FitzRoy. Officially he had seen Harry once in the interval. That time Lord Denno had again accompanied George Boleyn, who had business with the Duke of Norfolk, to Windsor—for the pleasure of the ride and Boleyn's company, he said. Lord Denno had then politely left Norfolk and Boleyn to discuss their business in private and had gone off to walk in the gardens.

Considering Lord Denno's fondness for flowers, it was not surprising to anyone that he should encounter the young duke of Richmond in company with his playmates Henry and Mary Howard. The children all liked Lord Denno, who had the wit to invent new twists for old games, and, since Harry FitzRoy never mentioned Denoriel when he met him alone, Norfolk believed the foreigner only saw all three children together.

This was a clever lie—without one false word being uttered—because over those weeks FitzRoy had insisted on sailing his boat in the pond every day. Sometimes Henry and Mary brought boats and sailed them too——Denoriel never appeared on those days—but most of the time the Howard children found something more interesting to do and left FitzRoy alone. The guards, knowing the garden to be safely walled, stayed at the entry from where they could usually watch all three children.

Denoriel approved heartily of the situation as it was. The official visits when he accompanied George Boleyn had made Norfolk familiar with Lord Denno's fondness for children—and Denno had provided a sad tale of young brothers and sisters lost to the Turks—but aroused no suspicions of any particular relationship with FitzRoy. Denoriel's other incursions, twice or thrice a week, went totally unnoticed by anyone.

No one even knew Denoriel had ridden out of London, since he had, with King Oberon's approval and the assistance of one of the Magus Majors of Elfhame Logres, created and set a small Gate to open from near the palace Llachar Lle to two places: Lord Denno's private set of rooms in his rented house in London and a tiny wood near a crossroad about a mile from Windsor. Four other destinations could be set into the Gate, even though it was a small one, only able to take him mounted on Miralys, but for now the other possibilities were empty.

Actually when Denoriel arrived at Windsor today, he was not certain that he would find Harry at the pond. He had visited the boy only the previous day, and ordinarily would not come again for one or two days more; however, he had had news that he found unsettling after he had returned to his London house.

A message had been waiting for him. That was innocent enough, only being a pressing invitation to accompany George Boleyn, Thomas Wyatt, Henry Norris, and Francis Bryan to attend the theater that afternoon. Although Denoriel found the scenery and effects incredibly crude and unconvincing, he had great admiration for the plays themselves and George's friends were all devoted to art and literature, which made discussions of what they had seen fascinating. Wyatt was a remarkably fine poet, George somewhat less skilled but with a pretty turn of phrase. Norris and Bryan were musicians of considerable skill. Denoriel always enjoyed an evening with them . . . and sometimes picked up valuable court gossip too.

So it was after the play, when they had all settled at a favorite tavern. To Denoriel's surprise the men did not discuss the entertainment, even though it had been thought provoking. They were too full of the fact that King Henry had named Princess Mary Lord Lieutenant of Wales and ordered that she be sent with a great household to Ludlow Castle—a traditional appointment for the heir to the throne.