“Life isna easy on Innisfana,” Cluny reminded him.
“No, it isn’t, and that’s why I came to England. I had no mind to go pirating with my brothers, and what else was there for me? Here in England I have a position of respect as a member of the queen’s personal guard. My investments with my sister’s trading company have made me a rich man. I’m content for now.”
“A rich man needs a wife to give him sons. Ye have gold, but no land to call yer own. Even this house in which ye live belongs to yer sister, and were she not barred from the queen’s court ye’d not have even that, m’lord.”
“Yer beginning to sound like my mother,” grumbled Conn.
“Yer mother is a good woman, and yer father, may God assoil his soul, Dubhdara O’Malley, him of sainted memory, married young so he might breed up a fine crop of sons.”
“And didn’t stop until he killed one wife with his excesses, and given my mother four sons in as many years. Had he not died when he did my own mother might not be alive today. Dammit, Cluny, have not my three brothers given the O’Malleys enough heirs for the next generation?” Then he chuckled. “I could almost wish my father were alive to see it. Five sons he finally bred. One a priest, three no better than he, pirates all with randy cocks, and me! The Handsomest Man at Court!” He burst out laughing.
Cluny, however, did not laugh with his master this time. Rather his face was disapproving, and finally, he said, “Yer not like yer brothers, m’lord. Yer like yer sister, Lady Skye. She is nothing like her sisters. You two are the rare birds in Dubhdara O’Malley’s nest.”
“What of Father Michael and Sister Eibhlin, Cluny? Surely yer not putting them with the others; the three pirates and the four disapproving goodwives our father sired?”
Cluny shook his head. “They went to the church, m’lord,” he said as if that explained everything. “Church people are always different. What I mean was that ye and yer sister, Lady de Marisco, are the ones with the ambition. Look how far she’s gone, and her just a mere woman.”
The admiration in Cluny’s voice for Skye bordered on the worshipful, thought Conn, but he couldn’t blame his man. He, too, adored his older sister. She was intelligent and wise and loving. The damnedest, and the most incredible woman God had ever created. She met life head-on which was something he had to admit to himself that he didn’t. He was more cautious, looking for his opportunities, taking them quickly when they appeared. He wasn’t a stupid man, he knew, but he relied a great deal upon his appearance and his charm to carry him through life. Perhaps he relied on those things a little too much, he thought suddenly. As quickly, however, he shook his guilt off, and said easily, “I shall try to reform, Cluny, but not today. Today I am going to sleep off the excesses of the last few nights. I am not due at court until tomorrow, but when I return there, I had best be in very good form. The queen does not like a dullard, and our fortunes are, after all, tied to those of our Gloriana.”
Cluny nodded. He, too, was no fool, and he knew that his master spoke the truth. Still he wished that Conn would marry and settle down. He was apt to burn himself out if he continued on his self-destructive path much longer. He owed a great deal to Conn O’Malley. Conn had taken him into service when a ship’s mast had fallen on him in the drydock where he had worked as a carpenter. His arm had been crippled in the accident, and he was unable to continue on with his craft. He might have starved to death, and his mother with him, but for Conn O’Malley. Conn had assured him a weakened arm would not hinder him in his work as the young O’Malley’s valet, and had taken him on. His elderly mother had died soon afterward, but her death had been a peaceful and a comfortable one thanks to Conn O’Malley, and Cluny had felt no distress in leaving Ireland and following his young master to England when Conn had come with his sister several years ago.
Cluny had grown up on Innisfana Island where Dubhdara O’Malley’s family had their stronghold. They were
his
family. He was
their
man. Like Conn he was a man who took opportunity when it presented itself, and service with Conn O’Malley in England offered him a world such as he had never seen before. England itself had been a revelation with its fertile, well-watered valleys and its great city of London. He went to court with his master, and knew all the great names that went with the noble faces. He was on speaking terms, and in some instances drinking terms, with servants of the oldest and greatest names in England. His was a position to be envied. If he regretted anything it was that he could not write all these wonders to his friends back home, but then had he been able to, they could not have read his letters. Cluny would have liked to tell them how this year at the Feast of All Hallows her majesty had appointed his master the Lord of Misrule for the entire holiday season which began that very night of October 31, and would run until Candlemas on February 2.
The court could not remember a more fun loving Lord of Misrule than Conn O’Malley. He was constantly inventing wonderfully funny games and penalties which he imposed upon the court. Having been duly “crowned” by her majesty he then picked a bodyguard of twenty-five young gentlemen of the court, and dressed them at his own expense in liveries of grass green and scarlet, gold ribbons tied about their arms, and tinkling brass bells about their legs. They were equipped with gaily painted hobbyhorses, or dragons; and wherever Conn went, he and his followers were followed by a group of musicians hired for the season by the Lord of Misrule.
One Sunday morning Conn and his followers accompanied by their musicians playing upon drums and pipes burst into the queen’s chapel during services. Crowned with a tinsel crown Conn was borne in upon a litter while about him his attendants capered and danced down the nave, and up the chancel halting to demand “proper obeisance” from not only the royal chaplain, but her majesty as well.
“Conn O’Malley!” scolded Elizabeth Tudor, “do ye dare make a mockery of our Lord God?”
Conn slid from his litter, and towering above the queen looked down at her saying, “Nay, Gloriana. I am merely making a joyful noise as the Bible says!”
About them the congregation tittered, the solemnity of the service having been destroyed. Even Elizabeth smiled in spite of herself, and rapped him sharply upon the arm with a small jeweled mirror that hung from her waist upon a gold chain. “Yer a disrespectful rogue, Conn!”
“Nay, Gloriana, ’tis ye who have shown disrespect to the Lord of Misrule, and as a forfeit I claim a kiss of ye.” Then before the queen could protest Conn bent down, and engaged her lips in a most ardent, and drawn-out kiss.
Elizabeth was riveted to the spot for a long minute while about her there were gasps of surprise and shock. She did not, however, pull away from him; and when finally the kiss ended she was rosy in color, turning an even deeper hue when Conn whispered in her ear so only she might hear, “Isn’t it nice to know yer still alive, Bess?”
The queen burst out laughing, but Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, snarled, “Ye go too far, O’Malley! Perhaps a visit to the Tower would help to cool yer heels.”
“Since ye’ll never be king, Dudley, ’tis not yer decision to make, is it? At least in me Bess finds an honest man.”
“Gentlemen, enough!” The queen’s voice was sharp. She was annoyed at Leicester for having broken the spell. Conn O’Malley was a virile and handsome young man, and she had enjoyed his daring kiss; a kiss he would have never given her were he not protected by his office. “It is the season of joy and goodwill, gentlemen, and I will have no squabbling about me. Rob, yer too quick to take offense where there is none. As for ye, Conn O’Malley, yer much too bold.”
“And ye would have me no other way!” Conn quickly riposted falling back onto his litter; and quickly he signaled his bearers, and was borne off out of the royal chapel while behind him the queen laughed heartily at his antics.
The eleventh of November was St. Martin’s Day, and as the venerated saint had ordered slain a noisy goose who had interrupted his sermon, it was goose that was served in all the best households. Conn found offense in almost every great name at court that day, and gathering them all up he had his assistants herd them along, the noblemen forced to waddle like geese, and cackle, too. The rest of the court was convulsed with laughter, and most of Conn’s victims were, too, when their tempers cooled.
The twenty-fifth of November brought the Feast of St. Catherine which was usually the time of the apple harvests, and so was celebrated with apple dishes and cider. There was dancing, and bear baiting, and Conn terrified the ladies of the court by dressing up in a bear’s skin, and rushing amongst them growling fiercely which caused them to run shrieking and screaming while he chased after them, and catching them kissed and tickled them.
December brought St. Nicholas’ Feast on the sixth, St. Lucy’s on the eleventh, and St. Thomas’ on the twenty-first. Conn oversaw all the feasting and hilarity of the season with as good a will as anyone had ever known in a Lord of Misrule. It was up to him to plan and see executed all the masques, and mummeries and entertainments of the holidays. Greenwich was decorated with garlands of greenery fashioned from ivy, bay, and laurel leaves which were interspersed with red berries. Enormous candles of the purest beeswax were placed upon mantels and sideboards; slender columns of creamy wax were set in the silver candlesticks and candelabra.
Elizabeth couldn’t remember ever having laughed so hard as she did the day the Yule log was dragged into the hall, Conn dressed in scarlet silks and cloth of gold, perched upon it singing loudly a popular song of the season:
Wash yer hands or else the fire
Will not tend to yer desire:
Unwash’d hands, ye maidens know,
Dead the fire though ye blow!
Everyone rushed to help with the log, lord and lady alike, as well as the servants for it was considered good luck for the coming year to aid in bringing in the Yule log. Although Elizabeth usually preferred Christmas festivities in which others participated while she watched, Conn’s wild revelry reminded her of her childhood in her father’s court with all its unbridled gaiety, and she was frankly enjoying it. He was an exciting man, her wild Irishman, and far less complex than his elder sister, her enemy and her friend.
Christmas Day began with the entire court attending services in the queen’s chapel. Most had been up all the night, helping to ring in Christ’s birth as midnight had come, and bells all over England pealed joyously. Afterward there had been a great deal of drinking, and too soon it was time to attend chapel. The queen had had the good sense to get a few hours’ sleep as did some of her women.
St. Stephen’s Day followed Christmas, and then St. John’s Day, The Feast of the Holy Innocents, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, and finally the Feast of Twelfth Night. Each evening saw dancing, and feasting, and masking, and games as the court cavorted happily. On New Year’s Day Conn O’Malley, the Royal Lord of Misrule, presented the queen with a brooch so magnificent that it was talked about for several days. The design was that of a crowing cock that had been carved from a solid ruby. The bird’s wing and chest feathers were outlined in gold. He had a bright diamond eye, and was crowned with a golden coxcomb that was tipped with diamonds. The cock was then placed upon a round golden sunburst whose rays were studded with tiny diamonds. The brooch had been presented in a carved ivory box that had been enclosed in a cloth-of-silver bag.
Elizabeth was visibly astounded, and delighted by the magnanimity of his gift. The queen was in a particularly good humor today. For several months she had borne a painful ulcer upon her leg which, as suddenly as it came, now healed. For a moment she could not find her voice, and when she did she said, “Yer a rogue, Conn, but yer a rogue with exquisite taste.”
He smiled. “The ruby came off a Portuguese galleon that my brothers took. They thought I should enjoy the stone, and so they sent it to me. I, however, thought of the design, and had my jeweler execute it. I am the cock, but ye, my Gloriana, are the sun without whom I could not crow. Remember me whenever ye wear the brooch.”
The queen nodded thinking as she did that she couldn’t ever remember amongst all the flattering tongues that spoke to her one that spoke with such sincerity. There was nothing hidden in Conn’s nature, and she found it a relief.
When Twelfth Night came Conn was wise enough not to try to surpass his New Year’s gift. He gave the queen a simple chain of gold and diamonds to which her brooch might be attached thus serving a double purpose for the jewel. It might be either pin or pendant. The queen was delighted, and the other men of her court envious of the current influence held by Master O’Malley.
“Ye’d think he was to the manor born instead of a bog-trotting, ignorant Irishman,” sneered the Earl of Leicester to Lord Burghley.
William Cecil smiled a frosty smile at Robert Dudley. “I find Master O’Malley quite harmless both politically and dynastically. He pleases the queen with his antics, and asks nothing in return. It is a refreshing attitude on the part of a gentleman of this court, and an unusual one. What is there to dislike in the man, my lord?”
“He is a commoner! He has no right to be here at court rubbing elbows with his betters, even making mock of them in his exalted position.”
“Yer jealous,” observed Lord Burghley, “but lest that jealousy overcome yer memory, remember who created ye Earl of Leicester, Robert Dudley. It is the queen who is all-powerful here, and who says who may come, and who may stay, and who may be an earl. She could just as easily create yon handsome Irishman a duke.” Then with a smile William Cecil looked out upon the wild game of Blind Man’s Bluff currently being played in the queen’s presence.
Conn O’Malley, blindfolded, was stumbling with outstretched arms amongst the queen’s maids of honor who scampered shrieking all about him. He stopped for a moment, listening, attempting to determine a near victim. Then suddenly he swung completely about, and reaching out his hands closed about a supple waist. Without even waiting to draw the blindfold off his eyes he pulled the girl toward him, and found her lips with his own. To his very great surprise, the generous mouth beneath his was stiff with inexperience, but his prisoner made no attempt to escape him. She had to be one of the youngest girls serving the queen, but yet she could not be for she was tall against him. Expertly he molded both his body and his mouth against the girl, and then felt her lips soften beneath his while at the same time she trembled; a reaction which immediately brought out a protective instinct in him.
Who was this wench?