clouds of yesterday had disappeared, blown away by a brisk wind that ruffled the hedges and pruned trees in the gardens; the palace itself was like a mausoleum, but it had never been warm, its gargantuan expanse ill-suited to comfort, regardless of how many braziers and hearths were kindled.
Around me, people began to appear—courtiers in finery, the rustle of weighted hems and embroidered sleeves, the clinking of pomanders and ropes of pearls and gold imbuing the air with chiming music. Sentries guarded an archway that allowed access into the royal abode; as I paused, feeling my dagger hilt press into my calf (I had stashed it in my boot, though weapons were forbidden in the sovereign’s presence), I took a wary look about. I did not recognize any of those around me. For an unsettling moment, they all looked the same to me—polished peacocks with the sharp, hooded eyes of birds of prey, gauging my arrival as they might a fresh victim. All gathered in groups according to rank; all engaged in idle chatter. But none, I suspected, was actually interested in what the others had to say. They were intent only on the closed double doors behind which lay the beating heart of their existence: the queen herself.
Recalling how Mary had sometimes granted public audience at this hour, following her noon meal, I wondered if Elizabeth had summoned me to take my place among those eager to curry her favor. I had served her faithfully, yes, we had gone through trials together, but in the end, who was I to her? Certainly, I could not compete with the history she shared with Dudley. I had experienced firsthand the changes that being queen could wreak; Mary Tudor, whom I helped to win her throne, became a monster before my very eyes. Cecil had said Elizabeth’s newfound power was going to her head. Had she, too, embarked on a transformation? If so, how would she welcome me?
As unexpected doubt assailed me, taking on a looming menace, as I recognized once more how precarious my position truly was, I nearly turned to depart. The sudden emergence of Cecil from behind the doors stopped me. He wore a dark robe, his chain of office heavy on his shoulders. He appeared flustered, pushing through the courtiers who surged at the sight of him. When he espied me at the edge of the crowd, he motioned.
I felt every pair of eyes cleave to me as I passed, heard someone whisper, “ Who is he?” and then I stepped past the doors into the antechamber beyond. Cecil motioned to the guards. An outcry from the courtiers issued before the closure of the oak doors muffled it.
Cecil grimaced. Pulling off his cap, he dabbed at sweat beading his receding hairline. “It’s a nightmare,” he said. “They’re at her night and day like Pharisees. They think that if they crowd her passage, she will have to notice them. I am considering drafting restrictions regarding the distance they must maintain from the sovereign’s person. As it stands, she cannot set foot outside her doors without encountering that mob.”
“You did want this,” I reminded him. “You worked tirelessly to its end.”
He sighed. “Yes, I did.” Repositioning his cap, he glanced around us, though the splendid antechamber was empty. Behind the spangled curtain covering a nearby archway, I discerned voices. “Now, you must heed me. Lord Robert is with her,” he began. He set a hand on my sleeve, detaining me. “I couldn’t persuade her to see you alone. She says it is high time you and Dudley cease sparring. Indeed, she commands it. She told him as much, when he learned of your summons.”
“I can only imagine his excitement,” I said, wishing I had brought more than my dagger, though it was unlikely he would dare attack me in front of her.
Cecil sniffed. “Regardless of his sentiments, like all of us he must abide by her rule. She has taken this opportunity to begin opening the congratulatory gifts sent by foreign princes. She wishes to greet you informally.” His voice lowered
Around me, people began to appear—courtiers in finery, the rustle of weighted hems and embroidered sleeves, the clinking of pomanders and ropes of pearls and gold imbuing the air with chiming music. Sentries guarded an archway that allowed access into the royal abode; as I paused, feeling my dagger hilt press into my calf (I had stashed it in my boot, though weapons were forbidden in the sovereign’s presence), I took a wary look about. I did not recognize any of those around me. For an unsettling moment, they all looked the same to me—polished peacocks with the sharp, hooded eyes of birds of prey, gauging my arrival as they might a fresh victim. All gathered in groups according to rank; all engaged in idle chatter. But none, I suspected, was actually interested in what the others had to say. They were intent only on the closed double doors behind which lay the beating heart of their existence: the queen herself.
Recalling how Mary had sometimes granted public audience at this hour, following her noon meal, I wondered if Elizabeth had summoned me to take my place among those eager to curry her favor. I had served her faithfully, yes, we had gone through trials together, but in the end, who was I to her? Certainly, I could not compete with the history she shared with Dudley. I had experienced firsthand the changes that being queen could wreak; Mary Tudor, whom I helped to win her throne, became a monster before my very eyes. Cecil had said Elizabeth’s newfound power was going to her head. Had she, too, embarked on a transformation? If so, how would she welcome me?
As unexpected doubt assailed me, taking on a looming menace, as I recognized once more how precarious my position truly was, I nearly turned to depart. The sudden emergence of Cecil from behind the doors stopped me. He wore a dark robe, his chain of office heavy on his shoulders. He appeared flustered, pushing through the courtiers who surged at the sight of him. When he espied me at the edge of the crowd, he motioned.
I felt every pair of eyes cleave to me as I passed, heard someone whisper, “ Who is he?” and then I stepped past the doors into the antechamber beyond. Cecil motioned to the guards. An outcry from the courtiers issued before the closure of the oak doors muffled it.
Cecil grimaced. Pulling off his cap, he dabbed at sweat beading his receding hairline. “It’s a nightmare,” he said. “They’re at her night and day like Pharisees. They think that if they crowd her passage, she will have to notice them. I am considering drafting restrictions regarding the distance they must maintain from the sovereign’s person. As it stands, she cannot set foot outside her doors without encountering that mob.”
“You did want this,” I reminded him. “You worked tirelessly to its end.”
He sighed. “Yes, I did.” Repositioning his cap, he glanced around us, though the splendid antechamber was empty. Behind the spangled curtain covering a nearby archway, I discerned voices. “Now, you must heed me. Lord Robert is with her,” he began. He set a hand on my sleeve, detaining me. “I couldn’t persuade her to see you alone. She says it is high time you and Dudley cease sparring. Indeed, she commands it. She told him as much, when he learned of your summons.”
“I can only imagine his excitement,” I said, wishing I had brought more than my dagger, though it was unlikely he would dare attack me in front of her.
Cecil sniffed. “Regardless of his sentiments, like all of us he must abide by her rule. She has taken this opportunity to begin opening the congratulatory gifts sent by foreign princes. She wishes to greet you informally.” His voice lowered
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