There was a sickening crack and Carlton slumped to the floor, his jaw broken. For a moment, nobody stirred. Then the King’s guards rushed forward to seize the young man, while Somerset ran about the hall barking instructions to whoever would listen. Thomas grasped Frances’s hand as they watched in dismay. Among the press of bodies, she could see a pool of blood where the spilled wine had been and heard the low keening of the man as he clutched the side of his face. At least he was still breathing, she thought.
‘Peace!’
The King’s voice rang out across the hall. His chair scraped loudly across the tiles as he rose to his feet, then limped down from the dais. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath as he walked slowly towards the young man.
‘I have not seen you in my service before,’ he remarked. ‘What is your name?’
The man made as if to bow, but the guards on either side of him had his arms pinioned so tightly behind his back that he could not move.
‘George Villiers, Your Majesty,’ he said. He did not lower his eyes as convention dictated, but stared directly at his sovereign.
James held his gaze. Frances recognised the intensity of that look. She had seen it many times before, when the King had been entranced by a new masque or the grisly spectacle of the hunt in which he so delighted. Now, he seemed as likely to kiss the man as strike him.
‘Who brought ye here?’
Someone cleared their throat. A moment later, Sir John Graham stepped forward. Frances had not noticed him among the company – he had probably been keeping a discreet distance. His face was flushed and there was fear in his eyes as he addressed his sovereign. ‘Forgive me, Your Majesty. I was given full assurance of the young man’s credentials, or I would never have agreed to his appointment in your service.’
Frances saw his eyes flick to Somerset. So that was why he had accepted Villiers’s suit. Sir John’s rivalry with him had dominated the privy chamber for years. Although Sir John was too advanced in years to enjoy the same favour with James as his beloved ‘Rabbie,’ he evidently hoped to divert their master’s attention with a younger, more beguiling, alternative.
‘You should have consulted me, Sir John,’ Somerset snapped. ‘All those who aspire to serve His Grace must gain my approval first. I would never have allowed such a man as this,’ he cast a disdainful look at Villiers, ‘to come into His Grace’s presence.’
‘Hush, Rabbie’, the King interrupted. Frances caught the scowl that crossed his favourite’s brow before he recovered his usual composure. ‘Well now,’ James continued, taking a step closer to his captive. ‘What shall I do wi’ thee?’
Villiers’s eyes glinted as he stared back at the King.
James nodded to the guards to release their hold, then reached forward and took the young man’s right hand in his. There was an audible intake of breath around the room.
‘Do you know the penalty for striking a man in the King’s presence?’ he murmured, stroking his thumb across the attendant’s delicate fingers. ‘It is to have your hand smitten off.’
Behind the King, Frances saw Somerset give a satisfied smile. Villiers’s expression did not change.
James gazed down at the man’s wrist, as if imagining the blade slicing through it. ‘But I would not be a merciful king if I punished a novice in this way.’ Frances stared at him. He had shown no such mercy to witches or Catholics – or any other of his subjects who displeased him, she reflected bitterly. ‘Besides,’ he added, lifting the young man’s hand so that his lips almost touched it, ‘I could not destroy something so beautiful.’
Frances saw Villiers’s eyes darken with something like desire – or triumph, perhaps.
‘And so I am minded to pardon you—’
‘Your Grace,’ Somerset interrupted, stepping forward. ‘This man has shown himself to be violent and unruly. Surely you cannot risk—’
The King held up a hand to silence him. ‘You would have me jump at my own shadow, Rabbie,’ he said, without taking his eyes off Villiers. ‘Such passion as this young man has shown must not be suppressed but, rather . . . channelled in another direction.’
Somerset’s face flushed with anger but he pressed his lips together, defeated.
‘Now, George’ – the King said the name slowly, as if savouring its taste – ‘you may kiss my hand and I will release yours.’
The young man lowered his head to James’s outstretched