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
“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
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