Queen's Play - Dorothy Dunnett [13]
Master Ballagh stood for a good deal; but he brought that to a halt. He said sourly, ‘The O’LiamRoe is sensible of course, my lord, of the honour done him by his grace the King in inviting him to France. Ireland is not a country of wealth naturally. Our crops are few and our roads are bad, so that—’
‘—Damn you!’ said O’LiamRoe with surprise. ‘There’s a fine bothar road to the Slieve Bloom alone that two cows would fit on, one lengthwise and the other athwart.’
‘—But the Prince of Barrow is as consequential and scholarly a man as you would be hard put to it to see in a city. And I am not saying so,’ added Thady painstakingly, ‘for the pay he gives me, for you would quarter yourself looking for it did you drop it from between your finger and thumb on a white sheet at midday itself.’
There was an explosion, hardly covered, from the young men, but Lord d’Aubigny grimly persevered. ‘You and your principal know a little, I take it, of the present Court of France? You will be presented shortly to King Henri, and to the Queen who is, of course, Italian born. There are five young children.…’ He described, as plainly as he could, the public faces of the Crown and its suite, without a hint that the King’s wife and his mistress were at loggerheads; that the King’s friend the Constable supported the Queen; and that everyone distrusted the de Guises, who held the King’s love and most of his higher offices apportioned between them, and at altar, campaign or council table were first with their advice.
‘It is,’ said Lord d’Aubigny, ‘a gathering of people who cannot fail to impress you. A blossoming culture. A taste for beauty and considerable wealth. And consequently a certain state; a formality; a feeling for polite usage of some sort—’
‘We are not,’ said a bored voice from behind him, ‘permitted to duel’.
‘—And the wearing of hair on every part of the face,’ said its neighbour suavely, ‘is not now acceptable.’
Without looking round, his lordship went on. ‘Fashions change, of course. But the King himself decides style and colour for his gentlemen, and it is usual for those at Court to conform. Please do not hesitate, if in need of a tailor, to seek my advice.’
As an appeal to the aesthetic leanings of O’LiamRoe, it was a dead failure. ‘Ah, faith, is he one of those?’ said the Chieftain with pity. ‘The late King Henry VIII of England thought the same: that every drop of us should dress, talk and pray like the English, and shave off the face hair as well. It was a grand thing for my father that the hair grew on him like wire; and did he shave off the moustaches at night, there they were, glorious as ever, by morning.’
A brief silence fell, honouring this speech. O’LiamRoe, unaffected by it, glanced round. ‘Are you not for making some remark, Thady?’ And to the priest: ‘The tongue on him is green-moulded for want of exercise. There’s nothing he’d like better than a word on the hydrography.’
The ollave’s black face turned, stamped with affront.
‘Hydrography, is it? It’s hydrography we were wanting last night, God help us, and the smoke curling like an old, dried cow out of your nightshirt. I’m clean out of my nerves entirely, with your burnings and your sinkings; and “talk here” and “talk there” on top of it.’
‘Have I offended you?’ said O’LiamRoe, looking narrowly at his ollave.
‘Burnings!’ It was Lord d’Aubigny’s exclamation.
‘You have, so.’
‘But a small sup of wine, now, would put the extremities back into your bloodstream, Thady?’
‘It might, so,’ said the ollave, sulkily.
‘Burnings? What’s all this, Stewart?’
So, to the Archer’s chagrin, the news of the night’s unfortunate incident was prematurely unfolded, while Lord d’Aubigny’s handsome, high-coloured face set in extreme irritation. The fat fool and the thin fool, with their scarecrow wardrobe, were clearly of no consequence. The accident, obviously, had been slight; the guests of the King of France had been discomfited in no way that mattered.