was reckoned one of the most impressive in the realm. But Whitehall was unlike anything I’d seen. Nestled by a curve in the river, Henry VIII’s royal residence rose before me—a multicolored hive of fantastical turrets, curved towers, and galleries sprawling like somnolent beasts. From what I could discern, two major thoroughfares dissected it, and every square foot teemed with activity.
We entered under the northern gate, cantering past a crowded forecourt into an inner courtyard crammed with jostling menials, officials, and courtiers. Taking our horses by the reins, we started to make our way on foot to what I assumed would be the stables, when a trim man in a crimson doublet walked purposefully toward us.
Master Shelton stopped, bowed stiffly. The man likewise inclined his head in greeting. His pale blue eyes assessed us, a spade-shaped russet beard complimenting his lively features. I had the impression of an ageless vitality about him, as well as a keen intelligence.
As I lowered my eyes in deference, I espied crescents of dried ink under his fingernails. I heard him say in a cool tone, “Master Shelton, her ladyship informed me you might be arriving today. I trust your travels were not too arduous.”
Master Shelton said quietly, “No, my lord.”
The man’s gaze shifted to me. “And this is…?”
“Brendan,” I blurted, before I realized what I was doing. “Brendan Prescott. To serve you, Your Grace.” On impulse I executed a bow that demonstrated hours of painstaking practice, though to him I must have seemed inept.
As if to confirm my thoughts, he let out a hearty laugh. “You must be Lord Robert’s new squire.” His smile widened. “Your master may require such lofty address from you in private, but I am content with a mere ‘Master Secretary Cecil’ or ‘my lord,’ if you do not mind.”
I felt heat rush into my cheeks. “Yes, of course,” I said. “Forgive me, my lord.”
“The lad is tired, is all,” Master Shelton muttered. “If you would inform her ladyship of our arrival, we’ll not trouble you further.”
Master Secretary Cecil arched a brow. “I’m afraid her ladyship is not here at the moment. She and her daughters have moved to Durham House on the Strand, in order to free up room for the nobles and their retinues. As you see, his lordship has a full house this evening.”
Master Shelton stiffened. My gaze darted from him to Master Secretary Cecil’s unrevealing smile and back again. In that moment I saw that Master Shelton had not known, and had just been put in his place. Despite Cecil’s friendly demeanor, equals these men were not.
Cecil continued: “Lady Dudley did leave word that she has need of your services, and you are to proceed to Durham forthwith. I can provide you with an escort, if you like.”
In the background, pages raced about with torches, lighting iron sconces mounted on the walls. Dusk slipped over the courtyard and Master Shelton’s face. “I know the way,” he said, and he motioned to me. “Come, lad. Durham’s not far.”
I made a move to follow. Cecil reached out. The pressure of his fingers on my sleeve was unexpected—light but commanding. “I believe our new squire will lodge here with Lord Robert, also at her ladyship’s command.” He smiled again at me. “I will take you to his rooms.”
I hadn’t counted on being left on my own so soon, and for a paralyzed moment I felt like a lost child. I hoped Master Shelton would insist I accompany him to report in person to Lady Dudley. But he only said, “Go, boy. You’ve your duty to attend to. I’ll look in on you later.” Without giving Cecil another glance, he strode off, leading his bay back to the gate. Taking Cinnabar by the reins, I started after Cecil.
As I passed under an archway, I looked over my shoulder.
Master Shelton was gone.
* * *
I barely had time to gawk at the immensity of the hammer-beamed stables, populated by a multitude of steeds and hounds. Entrusting Cinnabar to a young dark-haired groom with an avid palm for a coin, I shouldered my saddlebag and hastened after Secretary Cecil, who led me across another inner courtyard, through a side door, and up a staircase into a series of interconnecting rooms hung with enormous tapestries.
Thickly woven carpets muffled our footsteps. The air was redolent of wax and musk, sweat, and musty fabric. Candles dripped from the eaves, studded on iron candelabra. The strains of a disembodied lute wavered from an unseen place as courtiers