here and abroad,” Cecil admitted, suddenly wishing he dared unburden his fears to de Quadra. “If you know from whom such rubbish emanates, please let me know, bishop,” he added pointedly. De Quadra didn’t so much as blink. “Said lady has a mind and heart of her own,” Cecil explained, “and said lady is the queen, her father’s daughter.”
“Lusty and in love with love, you mean,” de Quadra said, speaking quietly and quickly. “Cecil, you and I may not agree on much thus far, but we both know this woman must marry. And not to that freebooter,” the bishop added with a slight flaring of his nostrils. Ahead of them Dudley took the third stool on the other side of—but much closer to—the royal dais than their seats.
“Is there no way to discredit him in her eyes or make her pull back?” de Quadra whispered.
“Santa Maria,
the man is her Horse Master, a traitor’s son, and married at that.”
“And his wife is ailing, I hear,” Cecil said, “of a tumor in her breast. You know, bishop, I have a strong-minded, clever wife, but that has hardly readied me to deal with Elizabeth Tudor. Perhaps, bishop, each in our own way, we can only pray.”
“Ah, Cecil, I have not been on these shores long, but already I know you better than that. Men like us pray, perhaps, but also always act.”
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND GIGGLED as blowing rose petals caught in her hair and bodice. Meg Milligrew was strewing them in the satin-swagged royal barge as the queen’s party put out into the Thames for an afternoon ride and repast. The petals’ light perfume drifted on the river breeze, far preferable, Her Majesty thought, to that oily perfume burned to cover the reek of the Thames during the warm months in London. The twenty oarsmen bent to their easy task, heading downriver toward a favorite meadow spot. It wasn’t far and they could have ridden, but the day was hot and the barge a place to stretch out in repose. The queen already felt giddy.
She had gone against her instincts and invited Cecil and de Quadra along. Perhaps, she had thought, she could mix business with bliss. Yet both of them glanced at her far too often, and she soon felt she was being watched again. Perhaps one or both had spies at court to see what she and Robin were doing. If so, she was throwing down the gauntlet.
“Dear bishop and my Lord Cecil, since both of youwish me to marry, I have a lovely surprise for you,” she called to them and summoned them to her pillowed seat.
“Of course you must wed, for England as well as for your own happiness and an heir,” Cecil said, looking as wary as Bishop de Quadra looked hopeful. Elizabeth noted that her ladies, and even the servants, hushed to listen.
“And your thoughts, bishop?” she inquired with a smile.
“It would be my greatest joy to see such a brilliant queen ally herself with the countries of Europe and build a greater—”
“Catholic countries, Catholic husbands, of course,” she interrupted.
“Your father was once named Defender of the True Faith by the Holy Father, Your Grace,” de Quadra parried.
“Ah, yes, before we found the true Protestant faith here and he became Supreme Head of the Church of England, as I am.” De Quadra was a formidable adversary; he barely blanched at all that. “But I was thinking then, bishop,” she plunged on, “you as a churchman could perform a marriage ceremony for Robin—Robert—and me this very moment and then report back to your master, King Philip, that you have achieved at least half your mission. And half is better than most get, is that not true, my Lord Secretary Cecil?”
Robin got in the act by going down on one knee and kissing her hand. Meg threw more rose petals, andNed began a lilting love song about swimming in love’s pulling tide. Everyone knew they were all just playing, so the queen hoped de Quadra and Cecil would lighten their moods too. Though she’d have favored a romping tune today, she had
“Lusty and in love with love, you mean,” de Quadra said, speaking quietly and quickly. “Cecil, you and I may not agree on much thus far, but we both know this woman must marry. And not to that freebooter,” the bishop added with a slight flaring of his nostrils. Ahead of them Dudley took the third stool on the other side of—but much closer to—the royal dais than their seats.
“Is there no way to discredit him in her eyes or make her pull back?” de Quadra whispered.
“Santa Maria,
the man is her Horse Master, a traitor’s son, and married at that.”
“And his wife is ailing, I hear,” Cecil said, “of a tumor in her breast. You know, bishop, I have a strong-minded, clever wife, but that has hardly readied me to deal with Elizabeth Tudor. Perhaps, bishop, each in our own way, we can only pray.”
“Ah, Cecil, I have not been on these shores long, but already I know you better than that. Men like us pray, perhaps, but also always act.”
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND GIGGLED as blowing rose petals caught in her hair and bodice. Meg Milligrew was strewing them in the satin-swagged royal barge as the queen’s party put out into the Thames for an afternoon ride and repast. The petals’ light perfume drifted on the river breeze, far preferable, Her Majesty thought, to that oily perfume burned to cover the reek of the Thames during the warm months in London. The twenty oarsmen bent to their easy task, heading downriver toward a favorite meadow spot. It wasn’t far and they could have ridden, but the day was hot and the barge a place to stretch out in repose. The queen already felt giddy.
She had gone against her instincts and invited Cecil and de Quadra along. Perhaps, she had thought, she could mix business with bliss. Yet both of them glanced at her far too often, and she soon felt she was being watched again. Perhaps one or both had spies at court to see what she and Robin were doing. If so, she was throwing down the gauntlet.
“Dear bishop and my Lord Cecil, since both of youwish me to marry, I have a lovely surprise for you,” she called to them and summoned them to her pillowed seat.
“Of course you must wed, for England as well as for your own happiness and an heir,” Cecil said, looking as wary as Bishop de Quadra looked hopeful. Elizabeth noted that her ladies, and even the servants, hushed to listen.
“And your thoughts, bishop?” she inquired with a smile.
“It would be my greatest joy to see such a brilliant queen ally herself with the countries of Europe and build a greater—”
“Catholic countries, Catholic husbands, of course,” she interrupted.
“Your father was once named Defender of the True Faith by the Holy Father, Your Grace,” de Quadra parried.
“Ah, yes, before we found the true Protestant faith here and he became Supreme Head of the Church of England, as I am.” De Quadra was a formidable adversary; he barely blanched at all that. “But I was thinking then, bishop,” she plunged on, “you as a churchman could perform a marriage ceremony for Robin—Robert—and me this very moment and then report back to your master, King Philip, that you have achieved at least half your mission. And half is better than most get, is that not true, my Lord Secretary Cecil?”
Robin got in the act by going down on one knee and kissing her hand. Meg threw more rose petals, andNed began a lilting love song about swimming in love’s pulling tide. Everyone knew they were all just playing, so the queen hoped de Quadra and Cecil would lighten their moods too. Though she’d have favored a romping tune today, she had
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