Murder by Misrule

  ***

  The boys conferred as they devoured courses of stuffed mackerel, salad, spinach flan, and almond leech. By the time the cloths were withdrawn, they were ready.

  Stephen walked up to the dais and spoke quietly for a moment with the benchers. They nodded at him and settled themselves comfortably with cups of wine. He stood with admirable poise in front of the whole assembly. "Esteemed members of Gray's Inn: I am honored to be elected as your prince. I promise that I will serve you to the utmost of my abilities."

  Cheers and cries of "Long live the Prince!" followed.

  "Now I will announce my court. First, I am informed that I must select a member of the bench as my Counselor in Chief. Since provisionary benchers are allowed, I appoint Mr. Francis Bacon as my Master of Revels."

  That startled a laugh from Bacon, who had apparently only been half listening. For a moment, he looked like a boy, still a student with a taste for fun. Tom liked him for it.

  "Next, I must have a Lord Treasurer, a man who can be trusted to manage the enormous sums of money needed to make my reign memorable. I name Benjamin Whitt to hold my princedom's monies, for that he himself have none."

  Cries of sympathy mixed with the laughter as Ben rose to stand beside his prince.

  "Since we are under constant threat of invasion and affront from members of those outposts of villainy, Lincoln's Inn and the Middle Temple—"

  Boos and hisses rose from the audience as the names of their rival Inns of Court were mentioned. The Inner Temple was, by long tradition, an ally of Gray's.

  Stephen held up his hands for silence. "We require a bold and intimidating Captain of the Guard. I name Allen Trumpington to be my shield of strength, for that he himself have none."

  Trumpet bounded up to the dais and paced back and forth, glaring fiercely at the ancients. Tom laughed out loud. It was like appointing a kitten to guard the bears.

  "Last and least," Stephen said. "In these perilous times, a wise ruler retains a minister to warn him of machinations at home and abroad. I name Thomas Clarady to be my Master of Intelligences, for that —" He stopped and gave the audience a meaningful look.

  As one, the Society chorused "He himself have none!"

  Stephen made a clowning face at Tom, who was well pleased with his post. Everyone knew that the real Master Intelligencer, Sir Francis Walsingham, had over and again saved England from those milk-livered, pox-marked Catholic conspirators. The position was one of the most important in the kingdom.

  Stephen raised his arms high and shouted, "Let the revels begin!" He waved a hand at the minstrel gallery over the screen and music filled the hall.