The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(69)

The great hall had been set up like a theatre, with a stage at one end and rows of benches, crammed with courtiers dressed in Christmas finery, filling the rest. Mal and Coby found places near the back, wedged between an elderly man in a faded black doublet and hose that perhaps had been new when the Queen came to the throne, and a young couple who were far more interested in flirting with one another than in the entertainments.

Sandy had declined attending, saying he took no pleasure in playgoing without Kiiren to share it with, and Mal had left his brother behind with a heavy heart. At first he put on a merry face for his wife's benefit, but the laughter of the audience only seemed to sour his mood further, so he distracted himself by turning his attention to the royal party seated at the front of the hall. Little could be seen of the Queen or her two sons, whose high-backed chairs blocked the view of the unfortunate courtiers behind them, nor could he see her young grandsons over the heads of the crowd. He knew they were there, however, and he was most interested in seeing whose eyes turned that way more often than to the stage. His efforts were thwarted, however, by nine year-old Prince Edward, whose frequent loud observations on the play attracted the looks and amused comments of those about him.

His attention was drawn back to the stage by the entrance of Will Shakespeare, Gabriel Parrish and another actor he did not recognise, speaking of music. A few moments later Olivia stepped out of the wings, accompanied by the strains of music from a hidden lutenist.

“Come, Balthasar, we’ll hear that song again,” said the unknown actor.

“O, good my lord,” Olivia replied, “tax not so bad a voice to slander music any more than once.”

After several more such exchanges, which brought gales of laughter from the audience, the musician Balthasar was prevailed upon by his master to comply.

“A fine jest,” Mal muttered to his wife.

“Or an unkind jibe at Princess Juliana,” Coby whispered back.

“You think so?”

“To have her favourite singer mocked before all the court, even if only in pretence? Yes, I think it a calculated insult.”

“But not of Shakespeare’s doing, surely?”

“You would have to ask Parrish that. He might know.”

The musician struck up again, and Olivia began to sing: “Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, men were deceivers ever…”

“That is true enough,” Coby muttered, staring straight ahead.

Mal bit his tongue. He was not going to get into a quarrel with his wife here, and attract the ire of Her Majesty.

Thankfully the song was soon over, and Olivia departed. There followed some nonsense involving a plot to bring together a young man and woman who despised both love and one another. A fool’s errand, if you ask me. Trouble enough comes when a man and woman love one another from the outset.

The rest of the play did not improve his mood, and he was relieved when the villain was unmasked, the lovers reconciled and at last all was over. He joined in the applause, however, after his wife glared at him. The actors gave their last bows, then Her Majesty rose and led the way out of the hall to the nearby banqueting chamber. The rest of the court followed in order of precedence, meaning that Mal and Coby had to wait until almost everyone else had left.

“Attend upon Her Highness,” Mal whispered. “I think I shall speak to the actors, as you suggested.”

Before she could protest he turned away and leapt up onto the stage. A few strides took him across the narrow space and through the curtains into the makeshift tiring-house beyond. A few of the actors turned to stare at him.

“I’m looking for Gabriel Parrish,” he said, peering over the heads of the throng. There was no sign of Olivia, but he did not really expect it: Balthasar had appeared in only the one scene.

“Here, Catlyn!” Parrish waved a hand from the other side of the room.

Mal pushed his way through the actors.

“Can we talk?”

“Of course.” Parrish handed him a silk doublet. “Hang that up over there, will you? There’s a love.”

Mal raised an eyebrow but did as he was instructed. Parrish pulled the shirt over his head and threw it onto the nearby bench.

“Well, what did you want to say?”

“In private, if we may…?”

Parrish shrugged. “If you must. Though there’s few secrets that escape this lot for long.”

“Only because you can’t keep your mouth shut, Angel,” one of the other actors shouted.

“Ignore him, he’s only jealous,” Parrish said to Mal in a stage whisper.

Mal lowered his own voice. “This is business, Parrish.”

“Oh.” The actor winked at him, then added more loudly, “Well, if you’d said that in the first place, love… I’m sure I can make an exception for a handsome fellow like you.”

The tiring-house erupted in laughter. Mal stared at the wall, playing the part of the embarrassed admirer. Truth was, once upon a time he would have taken pleasure in the proximity of a half-naked man, especially one as handsome as Gabriel Parrish. Now, though, he was married and content, and Gabriel belonged to Ned, as much as any man could belong to another. Still, he stole a glance or three as Parrish stripped to his drawers and dressed in his own clothes. Just for the look of it, of course.

Parrish brushed the sleeves of his doublet, picked up his hat and took Mal’s arm.