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up doing exactly what the regent master required. He silently cursed
himself for not giving the man s name to the King along with the
other supposed conspirators . He had only stopped short out of
some insane sense of admiration for the man s tenacity. Even then
he had guessed he was going to regret missing the opportunity;
now he was sure of it. Still he tried to avoid the inevitable.
The King may not be of a mind to allow such frivolity.
Falconer smiled, leaning forward in his seat to press his great
ham of a fist on de Cantilupe s knee. The action was of one
recommending a humorous jest to a friend. Henry will be happy
to please his court at Christmastide, and besides, it is an old
custom that the monarch should preserve. It will be the occasion
of much jollity, after all.
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De Cantilupe did not think the King thought in terms of bringing
jollity to those who fawned on him. He began to speak, but
Falconer s grip on the ex-Chancellor s knee tightened.
And it will give you an opportunity to clear your conscience
over those unfortunate burghers, who have done nothing wrong
other than offer some imagined slight in the minds of their
accusers. You will have reinstated yourself in the King s favour
at no cost to anyone.
De Cantilupe was clearly weakening. He sank back in his chair,
gazing at his old adversary. Further resistance was useless the
man always had an answer, and de Cantilupe had always given
in. It was folly to think the passage of years would have changed
anything. Weirdly, he realized he almost enjoyed their exchanges.
Very well. I will suggest to the King that he elect a Lord of
Misrule from his kitchen servants at the feast today. I will do my
best to ensure that & He looked enquiringly at the youth.
Thomas. Falconer motioned for Thomas Symon to come
forward.
That Thomas, here, becomes that Lord. But after that it is up
to the boy.
Falconer clapped his rough hands together in delight, and smiled
at the student before him. Thomas grinned back confidently he
had helped his master before with similar machinations.
Excellent. Thomas knows exactly what to do.
When Stefano de Askeles heard that John Peper had been led off
by the constable to be incarcerated for the murder of the
unfortunate monk, he was furious. Not that he cared for the life
of his actor, nor for the loss of his acting skills, for truly the man
was poor at his craft. But his imprisonment left him short of a
Noah and all the other minor parts that Peper played in the
cycle. And no one would be able to learn them in time. Besides,
the man was privy to a secret that de Askeles would rather he
kept. In prison he might have occasion to blurt it out.
The evening shadows lengthened across the courtyard, and with
the torches extinguished the stage lacked its normal glitter. Long
and ominous shadows were cast by the device that the Prior s
carpenters had only just installed at the back of the stage. With
solid uprights and a sturdy crossbeam from which hung ropes
threaded through pulleys, the device more nearly resembled a
gallows than what in fact it was: the means by which God s throne,
attached to the ropes and by the hidden effort of several brawny
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men, would appear to ascend uncannily to the heavens at the
end of the play cycle. Now to de Askeles s eyes the gilded Mansion
of God was dulled and without lustre. He sat on the edge of the
platform drumming his leather-clad heels on its upright face,
and clutching his fur-lined robe around him against the cold of
the evening.
With the performances now barely more than a day away, and
an indication that the King might attend, he was boiling with
anger that all was not going well. If only he could secure the
release of John Peper, then there was every opportunity to
impress the royal court, and perhaps even earn a lucrative living
from being taken into the King s employ. Of course he could then
be rid of Peper, and Will Plome and Agnes Cheke as well. They
were of use to fill a costume, or entertain stupid peasants, but
at the King s court he would need finer players. Players like
Margaret Peper, who was the finest saltatore he had ever seen.
Her lithe and shapely limbs would be the currency to buy the
cooperation of any courtier he fancied to further his aims. And
all this was threatened by the stupidity of the woman s husband.
It wasn t even as if he could have killed the monk. He slammed
his fists down on the floor of the stage, causing an echo to boom
through the darkness.
Who s there?
A tremulous voice drifted out of the darkness at the side of the
stage. De Askeles recognized it for the voice of the troupe s
palmist and soothsayer, Agnes Cheke. At another time he might
have taken the opportunity to play a trick on her, working on her
fear of the place where but recently a man had been murdered.
But another idea had begun to form in his mind. He sprang to his
feet, and called out, It s only me, you stupid woman. Stop
skulking in the dark and come here.
Agnes s courage returned when she realized it was neither the
spirit of the monk nor the substance of his murderer that had
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