Gloriana: Or, The Unfulfill'd Queen by Michael Moorcock

Author:Michael Moorcock [Moorcock, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy
ISBN: 978-0-446-55970-6
Publisher: Warner Aspect
Published: 2004-08-01T00:00:00+00:00

THE EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER

In Which Lord and Lady Rhoone Discuss the Appearance of Mysterious Disturbances in the Order of the Court

THERE SHOULD,” said Lord Rhoone, taking the last of the beef from the salver presented by the servant, “have been a trial, my dear.”

They broke fast in their own over-furnished apartments, warmed by the early June sunshine. Lady Rhoone, on the other side of the table, put her large red chin upon her hand and laid down a knife, picked up a piece of bread at which she stared rather dully. “Of Tancred?”

“He is innocent, I’ll swear.”

“He seems happy, in Bran’s Tower. He believes himself a knight of Chivalry, imprisoned by an ogre. He awaits the coming of some warrior-maid, some Clorinda, to rescue him. Innocent or guilty, my dear heart, he is mad and therefore must be held somewhere. The Queen visits him. Others do.” She bit at the bread.

“But he should have been proved innocent and a greater effort made to discover the real murderer.” Lord Rhoone dabbed at his black beard with a napkin and sniffed. “This way, there still remains suspicion that the murderer’s abroad and might kill again. No trial—no ceremony—no resolution. That’s what set Sir Thomas to stalking.”

“Lord Montfallcon has made all efforts, Bramandil. None but Tancred was seen in Lady Mary’s apartments. For a month Montfallcon searched and investigated. He still pursues his inquisitions, as best he can.”

“Aye—and reassures no one. Look how strangely Doctor Dee acts—can there be something on his conscience? Or Sir Orlando Hawes, become stern and ferocious. Or Sir Amadis Cornfield, who has conceived a hatred of Lord Gorius Ransley—or Master Florestan Walis, who makes excuse upon excuse to be free of duties and who was, until recently, the most conscientious of the Queen’s servants. All since Lady Mary’s death. While Sir Thomas Perrott comes to Court with all his sons, swearing to cut Tancred to pieces and then, after an interview, also claiming Tancred innocent and haunting the palace night and day in his quest for the true murderer.” Lord Rhoone lowered his voice. “Then vanishing. Vanishing, my dear, in the night. And none can find him. Who saw him last? It must be the murderer himself. And killed the father as he killed the daughter, but this time hiding the corpse. And his sons maintain the search, then leave, in a pack, claiming the Saracens as culprits and refusing to name their informant.”

“Why Arabia?” She chewed.

“In revenge for the murder of one Lord Ibram—you recall?”

“Lady Mary was Ibram’s slayer, then?” Lady Rhoone shook. “Oh, my dear heart!”

“The story goes that Ibram loved her and insulted her:

that she was avenged, perhaps by that faceless spy of Montfallcon’s, and that, in turn, she was slain.”

“But where’s the spy?”

“Dead. Killed by the Saracens.”

“You are sure?”

“It’s common knowledge.”

“So the Perrott brothers now seek the Moor who did the deed.”

“Rumoured to be Lord Shahryar, the ambassador, who has temporarily returned to his homeland.”

“The Perrotts pursue him to Arabia?”

“They would not say. But they are one of the greatest of ship-owning families.

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