A Ladder of Swords: A Tale of Love, Laughter and Tears — John Shaqi
A Ladder of Swords: A Tale of Love, Laughter and TearsParker, Gilbert
History
A Ladder of Swords: A Tale of Love, Laughter and Tears
Parker, Gilbert
Great Britain -- History -- Elizabeth, 1558-1603 -- Fiction; Huguenots -- Fiction; Jersey (Channel Islands) -- Fiction
It was an event of which the Seigneur of Rozel told to his dying day:
that he entered the presence-chamber of the royal palace of Greenwich
at the same instant as the Queen--“Rozel at one end, Elizabeth at the
other, and all the world at gaze,” he was wont to say, with loud
guffaws. But what he spoke of afterwards with preposterous ease and
pride was neither pride nor ease at the moment; for the Queen’s eyes
fell on him as he shoved past the gentlemen who kept the door. For an
instant she stood still, regarding him intently, then turned quickly
to the Lord Chamberlain in inquiry, and with a sharp reproof, too, in
her look. The Lord Chamberlain fell on his knee, and with low,
uncertain voice explained the incident.
Elizabeth again cast her eyes towards Lemprière, and the court,
following her example, scrutinized the seigneur in varied styles of
insolence or curiosity. Lemprière drew himself up with a slashing
attempt at composure, but ended by flaming from head to foot, his
face shining like a cock’s comb, the perspiration standing out like
beads upon his forehead, his eyes gone blind with confusion. That was
but for a moment, however, and then, Elizabeth’s look being slowly
withdrawn from him, a curious smile came to her lips, and she said to
the Lord Chamberlain, “Let the gentleman remain.”
The Queen’s fool tripped forward and tapped the Lord Chamberlain on
the shoulder. “Let the gentleman remain, gossip, and see you that
remaining he goeth not like a fly with his feet in the porridge.”
With a flippant step before the seigneur, he shook his bells at him.
“Thou shalt stay, Nuncio, and, staying, speak the truth. So doing,
you shall be as noted as a comet with three tails. You shall
prove that man was made in God’s image. So lift thy head and
sneeze--sneezing is the fashion here; but see that thou sneeze not
thy head off as they do in Tartary. ’Tis worth remembrance.”
Rozel’s self-importance and pride had returned. The blood came back
to his heart, and he threw out his chest grandly; he even turned to
Buonespoir, whose great figure might be seen beyond the door, and
winked at him. For a moment he had time to note the doings of the
Queen and her courtiers with wide-eyed curiosity. He saw the Earl of
Leicester, exquisite, haughty, gallant, fall upon his knee, and
Elizabeth slowly pull off her glove and with a none too gracious look
give him her hand to kiss, the only favor of the kind granted that
day. He saw Cecil, her minister, introduce a foreign noble, who
presented his letters. He heard the Queen speak in a half-dozen
different languages, to people of various lands, and was smitten with
due amazement.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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