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
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
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