Christopher Stasheff

‘And the old man gave a heavy sigh, and would have judged it the wisdom of God, and blessed them.’

‘And Durer stepped in again.’

‘Most certainly. He was up before the Queen, when she was at table before all her lords and ladies, crying that the Queen must prove the justice of her new order by declaring herself what was just in this case; for were these not peasants on the Queen’s own estates?’

Rod grinned and slapped his thigh. ‘She must have been ready to spit in his eye!’

‘Oh. you know not the Queen!’ Toby rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling. ‘She would most cheerfully have slipped a knife ‘twixt his ribs. But the challenge must needs be answered; she must needs hear the case herself, when next she held General Court.’

‘General Court?’ Rod scowled. ‘What the hell is that?’

‘One hour each month the Queen opens her court to all in her realm who wish her ear; and peasants, nobility, and clergy come to her Great Hall. Mostly the great lords but look on while the petty nobility and peasantry bring forth their grievances. And with the great ones watching, you may be sure the grievances brought up are petty indeed.’

‘Like this case.’ Rod nodded. ‘When’s this next General Court?’

‘Tomorrow,’ said Toby, ‘and I think the great lords shall have their tame clergy and peasantry protest the Queen’s new judges and priests. The lords shall lodge their protest first, of course; and the other, more common folk shall be echoing them.’

Rod nodded. ‘Put the whole matter on public record. But what does Durer hope to gain by bringing in this seduction case?’

Toby shrugged. ‘That, only Durer may know.’

Rod leaned back, frowning, and pulled at his mug. He studied the young faces around him and scratched at the base of his skull.

‘Sounds to me like this is information the Queen would like to have. Why don’t you tell her?’

The faces sobered. Toby bit his lip and looked down at the floor.

Rod scowled. ‘Why don’t you tell her, Toby?’

‘We have tried, friend Gallowglass!’ The boy looked up at Rod in mute appeal. ‘We have tried; yet she would not hear us!’

Rod’s face turned to wood. ‘How’s that again?’

Toby spread his hands in helplessness. ‘The page we sent to her returned to tell us that we should be thankful for the protection Christopher Stasheff she accorded us, and not be so ingracious and insolent as to seek to meddle in her governing.’

Rod jerked his head in tight, quick nods, mouth drawn back in grim agreement. ‘Yeah, that sounds like Catharine.’

‘Mayhap,’ one of the boys murmured thoughtfully, ‘it is all to the best; for she bath cares enough without warnings of doom from us.’

Rod grinned with humor. ‘Yeah. Between the noblemen and the beggars, she’s got more than enough worries to keep her busy.’

Toby nodded, eyes wide and serious. ‘Aye, she hath troubles sufficient, between the councillors, the House of Clovis, and the banshee on her roof. She hath great cause to be most afeard.’

‘Yes.’ Rod’s voice was tight, rasping. ‘Yes, she bath good cause; and I think that she is thoroughly afeard.’

Big Tom must have been a very light sleeper; he sat up on his pallet as Rod came tiptoeing up to his bunk.

‘Mt well, master?’ he whispered in a rasping voice that had about as much secrecy as a bullfrog in rut.

Rod stopped and frowned down at his manservant ‘Yes, very well.

Why shouldn’t I be?’

Big Tom smiled sheepishly. ‘Thou hast small use for sleep,’ he muttered. ‘I had thought it might be a fever.’

‘No.’ Rod smiled with relief, shaking his head. He pushed past Big Tom. ‘It’s not a fever.’

‘What is it, then?’

Rod fell backward onto the bed, cupping his bands under his head.

‘Did you ever hear of a game called cricket, Tom?’

‘Cricket?’ Tom scowled. ”us a chirping creature on the hearth, master.’

‘Yeah, but it’s also the name of a game. The center of the game is a wicket, see, and one team tries to knock down the wicket by throwing a ball at it. The other team tries to protect the wicket by knocking the ball away with a paddle.’

‘Strange,’ Big Tom murmured, eyes wide with wonder. ‘A most strange manner of game, master.’

‘Yes,’ Rod agreed, ‘but it gets worse. The teams trade sides, you see, and the team that was attacking the wicket before is defending it now.’ He looked down over his toes at Tom’s round beehive face.