Rebels and Traitors Read Online Free Page B

magpie, a jay, a crow and a kite. Struggling to spot their own bird, Lambert and Bevan made out three satyrs with their own torch-bearers — and finally what they were waiting for: the three dotterels. They expelled a roar of greeting, which they kept up until one of the high-stepping wildfowl turned slowly towards them.
    Despite the winter night, inside the dotterel’s heavy costume, Gideon had sweat in his eyes. Adolescents like to hide, but this was far too uncomfortable. Striving to keep up with the parade, the young actor momentarily tripped over the long claws of his bird’s feet. Bevan’s derisive cheer had been unmistakable even through the muffling headpiece. Now he was for it. He knew that his great-uncle and his brother had tracked him down.
    Gideon was wary of Bevan. Even the recent offer of a printing apprenticeship seemed a mysterious ploy of some kind. Gideon always felt there was something unsound about his great-uncle. And he was right. When civil war came, Bevan Bevan would be a Royalist. Bevan was stirring trouble now, even though he always insisted he was supportive of Gideon. The lad’s rebellion would be exposed, to become family lore, occasioning many more furious arguments at home.
    Third Dotterel was forced to acknowledge that he had been recognised; he lowered his delicate beak in a sad salute. Thoroughly despondent, he flapped his arms like wings and stepped on his way.
    ‘So there he flies; we have done our duty’
What duty?
Gideon would have roared. To a tavern, Lambert!’
    ‘Do we not wait, to fetch our fledgling home?’
    ‘It will be morning before he obtains his release. Let him find his own way’
    Lambert at least was beginning to regret landing the young scamp in more trouble. ‘Oh you mean, let him answer to my mother on his own!’ Lambert knew Bevan was frightened of Parthenope. ‘We need not speak of it —’
    ‘Too good to keep to ourselves!’ replied Bevan cruelly.
    Thick crowds prevented them from moving off immediately. They saw out the rest of the parade. Immediately after the dotterels tottered a fine mobile windmill, at which a fantastical knight and his squire tilted raggedly while they tried to avoid its whirling sails. Then the procession became more formal. Fourteen trumpeters cantered by with rich banners; next rode the marshal among forty attendants, all tricked out in coats and hose of scarlet, trimmed with silver lace; then a hundred mounted gentlemen passed, two abreast. Finally in the manner of a Roman Triumph, three decorated chariots bore along
Peace, Law
and
Justice,
queenly females all coruscating with stars and silver ornament, thrilling beneath the shadows and light of many torches.
    The King and Queen were so impressed, they sent out to request that the entire carnival be led right around the tiltyard at the far end of Whitehall, and brought back again for a second viewing. It was a chilly night and the crowds outside began to lose interest. As soon as they gained space to move, Bevan Bevan and Lambert Jukes took themselves off. They picked their way through the fresh horse-dung along to the Strand, then headed east, back to their own turbulent city parishes where they could enjoy a tankard in a tavern more at ease than here.
    The masque participants finally dismounted outside the Banqueting House. Through his costume, Gideon could make out parts of the stark new classical building in three subtle shades of stonework, its harmonious Palladian style a cool contrast to the brightly painted beams and red brick of the rackety old Tudor buildings in Whitehall. Jostled by the other players and afraid his tail would be stepped on, he entered at the level of the Undercroft. The claws of his costume slipped on the stone, as he made his way up the easy flights of a broad stair. A tall doorway brought them into a magnificent two-storeyed hall, purposely designed for state receptions. Heat, braying voices, the stench of sweat and the cloying scent of rosewater