They were making their way towards the enormous arched window that filled the entire south wall ahead, its soaring panels gleaming with multicoloured glass, and Rob knew that the royal thrones sat on a dais beneath it, for he had been here several times before. But on those occasions the Hall had been partitioned with folding screens and there had been fewer than a score of people in attendance on the King and Queen, so that the atmosphere had been cordial and relaxed, in fitting with Her Majesty’s gracious presence. When he drew close to the dais, though, he saw that, despite the swarming courtiers in the massive room, both thrones sat empty.
Sir Robert turned sharply sideways, still clinging to Robert’s wrist. There was a single door in the corner, and he led Rob directly to it, releasing his wrist only when he reached out to open the door and step quickly inside. Rob followed him. This room was much smaller, and had two entrances, the second at the rear, facing the one they had used. The only furniture was a single square table in the middle, with an upholstered wooden armchair on one side. The table’s broad surface, large enough to accommodate four seated men on each side, was covered with books, bound scrolls, piles of writing paper, pots of pens and quills, and a full dozen stoppered inkhorns. A heavy chandelier hung over the table, suspended by chains, and the light from its several dozen candles warmed the entire room.
“Now, let’s have a look at you, young Bruce.” The seneschal studied Rob with narrowed eyes, then nodded. “Good. Most excellent. Her Majesty’s tailor has surpassed himself. The Queen will be most pleased.”
Rob felt himself flushing under Sir Robert’s appraising smile, aware that the seneschal knew the story behind his finery. About a month earlier, at Westminster, he had been engaged in a friendly scuffle with Humphrey de Bohun when he was peremptorily summoned to the palace by his father. Running to avoid keeping his father waiting, Rob had encountered King Edward and Queen Eleanor. He had skidded to a halt and had greeted the royal couple respectfully, not even mildly embarrassed. There was no formality or protocol in such informal encounters when they occurred. He was their guest, or his father was, and he was well liked by both of them and returned their affection. The embarrassment had occurred when he bowed and turned to leave them. The Queen immediately called him back and asked him what had happened to his tunic. He was unaware that the back of his tunic, between his shoulders, had been ripped out and hung behind him in a ragged flap. Queen Eleanor, gracious at all times, had insisted that he remain with her while a servant went running to find the seneschal, who was in turn instructed to take Master Bruce to the royal tailor and see to it that he received some new clothes, suitable to his station as her honoured guest. Thus, informally and almost accidentally, was Robert Bruce introduced to the pleasures of wearing stylish and beautiful clothes designed for him by gifted craftsmen. It was a self-indulgence he would take delight in forever after.
“The gathering tonight is for Her Majesty’s pleasure, and the King indulges her,” FitzHugh was saying now in his dry way. “This day marks the forty-sixth anniversary of the day she first heard His Majesty named as her husband-to-be. They were wed in November that same year, in Castile, in the Abbey of Santa Maria la Real, and a blessed match it has proved to be. Her Majesty has celebrated this anniversary every year since then, for, unofficial as it is, she holds the memory dear. Forty-five times, and each year the celebration grows larger. But the King is meeting privily with others at this moment, for the affairs of the realm take no heed of celebrations, and we are to join them—you are to join them—as soon as may be.” FitzHugh hesitated. “Something is troubling you, I can see.”
Rob waved vaguely towards the door through which they had entered. “All those people out there … Did the King and Queen just leave them there?”
“Leave them there? No, that would be ungracious. Their Majesties have not yet made their entrance. Nor will they until the King’s business is concluded and Queen Eleanor announces herself ready. Now, shall we go? Are you ready?”
Rob drew a deep breath. “I am, sir. But for what? What does the King need with me, on a night like this?”
The seneschal merely smiled and led the way to the far door.
Another large room, its walls draped with brightly coloured tapestries that glowed in the light of hundreds of massed candles, some in heavy chandeliers above the heads of the crowd and others ranked in sloping banks along the walls and against the central pillars like votive racks in churches. Leaping flames from a pair of roaring fires in the great hearths at each end added to the flickering light and shadow, for though the summer day outside yet had hours to run, in this windowless room it was night. There was no music here, though, other than the deep, murmurous sound of rumbling male voices.