Kathryn Kramer Read Free Page B

'twill be a brief one.  I am overly tired and wish to retire to my chambers," Elizabeth retorted, stifling a yawn.  "I have danced myself into weariness."
    "I do not think you will doze when you see the entertainment I have prepared.  You will, I think, find it most stimulating." Stafford nodded his head to that spot across the room where the costumed and masked revelers waited. "Most stimulating indeed."
    "T hen let the masque begin!" The queen declared. 
    With the beating of the timpani , the masque was unraveled, beginning with the courtier-dancers, those carefully costumed and masked aristocrats.  Perhaps nothing  suited the courtiers love of intrigue and admiration for personal cleverness as did the masque, Nicholas thought. More often than not these guileless-appearing performances hid a sinister intent, making light of court scandals or secrets.  He wondered who was to be the victim of tonight's masque.
    The theme seemed innocent enough, depicting the scene of a shepherd tending his fields.  Nicholas noted with amusement that the garments of satin that the young actor wore were hardly appropriate to such an occupation, but then costumes were always lavish and flamboyant.   Owen Stafford was a man of incomparable wealth who could well afford the extravagance.
    The stage was a swirl with color-- reds, blues, yellows and greens--as the dancers began the main dance, accompanied by the torchbearers.  Stafford had chosen to give a double masque so that the dancers were equally balanced between men and women, giving Nicholas something lovely to look at. Twirling and whirling, the young women passed by him with a smile. Though professional actors had been hired, the masque used a minimum of dialogue, for no speaking was really needed.  By gesture and mime, the story unfolded quite clearly.
    A dancer , dressed all in pink, joined the shepherd on the stage.  Only a fool would not have recognized that this young woman was portraying Morgana, wife of Lord Woodcliff.  Nicholas sat up in his chair with a start, clenching his jaw in indignation and alarm.  Morgana was overly fond of pink, as the entire court knew.  The dancer wore a long flowing blonde wig that seemed to give further hint to her identity.  Another indication was the well-known fact that Morgana's ancestors had made their fortune in the wool trade as merchants.
    I n white, obviously portraying sheep, several male dancers joined the pink clad dancer on the platform.  Following the young woman about, they watched as she took the staff from the shepherd's outstretched hand.  At court it was jested that Morgana turned even the fiercest lion into a lamb.
    Nicholas could not hold his tongue.  "What foul infamy is this?" he growled, looking Lord Stafford's way.
    "Silence, Nicholas, I find this interesting."  The queen's jealousy of the  lady in question made her appreciate the portrayal.  "I would see more."
    In an unmistakable pun of Morgana's marriage to an old man, another actor joined the dancers.  Bewigged with gray hair, bent over and stooped with old age, h e maneuvered his way to where Morgana stood.  To dispel any doubt as to his identity, the Woodcliff coat of arms, a bear upon a shield of blue and gold, was embossed upon his back.  From behind the curtained area of the stage came the sound of thunder.  The dancers made mime of argument and quarrel, proving theirs was a most stormy union. 
    He watched as another actor entered the stage via a trapdoor.  Dressed all in black , the dancer obviously depicted the villain of the scene. Apprehension gripped Nicholas, for he knew what was coming.  Owen Stafford had somehow learned of his secret meetings with Morgana and sought in this way to make that knowledge available to the queen.
    "The bastard!" he swore beneath his breath.  "The vain, pompous, evil bastard."   God's blood , he would be ruined.  All that he had worked for so long would be for naught and all because of one man's