. . . with a monarch’s voice,
Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the dogs of war.
— William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
“Mistress Quince, such news!” Alice was fairly dancing with excitement. Sidonie sat up in bed and reached for her dressing gown. There was an wintry chill in the room this morning.
“Tell me, Alice, I pray you, before you burst.”
Alice set down the breakfast tray. “The word is all round the estate this morning, Mistress Sidonie. I have it from one of the cooks, who had it from the butler, who had it from the steward, who has it from Lady Mary’s waiting-woman. The Queen herself is to come to Wilton House! If the weather holds she will be here in a fortnight!”
“So late in the year?” asked Sidonie, around a mouthful of bread and honey.
“Oh, but the Queen has long promised to pay another visit to Wilton House. Lady Mary was once at court, and Lady Mary’s mother nursed Her Majesty through the pox, at much risk to her own life, so you see the Queen has much affection for the family, and the steward says that by next summer we may be at war with Spain, and then Her Majesty must bide in London . . . ”
“Softly, softly, Alice,” said Sidonie. She took a sip of hot milk. “If you go on at such a pace you will run out of breath entirely.”
But Alice was not to be subdued. “My mother was a chambermaid,” she chattered on, “when the Queen’s Progress came to Wilton House, and she speaks of it still. Queen Elizabeth came with four hundred six-horse wagons to carry all the beds and furniture for her retinue, and five hundred officers and servants in her train. All the master’s gentlemen and servants were lined up in the gatehouse courtyard thick as could be, and when the Queen arrived there was a great noise of guns fired off in salute, and then Lady Mary came out with all her divers ladies and gentlemen to greet the Queen.”
Talking all the while, she fetched Sidonie a clean smock and underbodice and dropped a pair of lace-trimmed petticoats over her head. “What a time that was, my mother said, with the whole household turned topsy-turvy for months, cleaning and polishing and airing to get ready for the visit, and then the laying in of supplies, and hiring musicians, and borrowing Turkey carpets and extra silver plate from other houses. And then every day there were banquets and masques and entertainments, and hunting, and boating on the river, and fireworks at night.”
Sidonie sat on the edge of the bed to pull on her stockings. “And for this visit, as well?” she asked with some alarm.
“Alas, no,” sighed Alice, “as you point out, it is late in the year, and they say in the kitchen it is to be a modest affair, to spare expense to our house, and the Queen’s coffers as well . . . ” She threw open the wardrobe doors and peered inside. “No doubt,” she observed, as she gathered up a set of embroidered sleeves and a kirtle of heavy russet silk, “Lady Mary will have more to tell you, for when you have broken your fast she awaits you in her parlour.”
Sidonie found the Countess sitting in a high-backed chair with her prayer book in her lap, a piece of needlework spilling across a table at her side. The early sun, flooding through stained glass windows, scattered shards of emerald-green and vermilion across the rushmats.
“My dear Sidonie, come in. I have some news for you. You will have heard, I’m sure, that we were to expect a visit from the Queen.”
“Alice mentioned something of the sort,” said Sidonie, with tactful understatement.
“I have no doubt,” said Lady Mary with a faint smile. “I understand Her Majesty wished to take possession of the Abbey treasure, and express her gratitude in person. However, word came this morning that she has been unwell, and her physicians have advised her not to travel.”
“It is nothing serious, I hope?”
“A minor indisposition, we are told. But needless to say, it is disappointing.”
“Indeed,” said Sidonie — though in truth, Lady Mary seemed more relieved than disappointed.
“The real reason, I suspect, is not ill health, but rumour of an imminent attack by Spain. It’s no secret that all shipping has been stayed, and the fleet fully mobilized.”
Sidonie felt a chill at those words, so matter-of-factly spoken. On this tranquil October morning, with a lark outside the window and the sound of shepherd’s pipes across the fields, could war be so near at hand? These past months all of England had held its breath, waiting for the Spanish ships, yet Sidonie still was unprepared.
“You have turned quite pale, my child. Forgive me, have I frightened you?”
“A little,” Sidonie said.
The Countess reached for Sidonie’s hand and held it in a firm, warm grasp. “Be of good heart, Sidonie. War is coming, none but a fool would deny it. But if Philip does not launch his ships before winter closes in, he needs must wait till spring. And remember this: the English fleet still rules the seas. Plymouth and London are filled with English fighting men, eager for the first sight of Spanish sails.”
But Sidonie was only half attending to those brave words. “My lady, if there is to be war, I should be at home with my father, someone must see to his safety . . . ”
Lady Mary’s brows lifted. “And should he not instead be seeing to your safety?”
Sidonie hesitated, at a loss to explain, but Lady Mary seemed content to let the question rest.
“Sidonie, I did not send for you to speak of war, but only to say this: though the Queen must bide in London, we are nonetheless to entertain a distinguished visitor. Her Majesty is sending Lord Burleigh to fetch the gold, and he has asked to speak with you.”
“What, I, my lady?” said Sidonie, flustered, her mind still elsewhere.
“And does that surprise you?” Lady Mary’s voice was amused. “It is you who have earned the Queen’s gratitude, you who have helped protect her throne. Have you so soon forgotten the prophecy — that when the Abbey treasure is discovered, peace will be assured in England?”
But Sidonie was remembering that other, darker prophecy of Regiomontanus: of catastrophe and ruin, of empires crumbling and lamentation across the land.