Page 148 of A Column of Fire

‘A widow is a nuisance. I could live with my son, but no boy really wants his mother around all the time. Queen Elizabeth likes me, but a single woman at court is assumed to be a busybody. And if she’s attractive, she makes the married women nervous. No, I need a husband, and Robin Twyford will be perfect.’

‘You’re going to marry Lord Twyford?’

‘I think so, yes.’

‘Does he know about this?’

She laughed. ‘No, but he thinks I’m wonderful.’

‘You are, but you might be wasted on Robin Twyford.’

‘Don’t condescend. He’s fifty-five, but he’s sprightly and smart and he makes me laugh.’

Ned realized he should be gracious. ‘My darling, I hope you’ll be very happy.’

‘Bless you.’

‘Are you going to the play tonight?’

‘Yes.’ She loved plays, as he did.

‘I’ll see you then.’

‘If Twyford is there, be nice to him. No silly jealousy.’

Ned’s jealousy was focussed elsewhere, but he did not say so. ‘I promise.’

‘Thank you.’ She sucked his nipple.

‘That feels good.’ He heard the bell of St Martin-in-the-Fields. ‘But I have to attend upon her majesty.’

‘Not yet, you don’t.’ She sucked the other nipple.

‘But soon.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she said, rolling on top of him. ‘I’ll be quick.’

Half an hour later, Ned was walking briskly along the Strand.

Queen Elizabeth had not yet appointed a new bishop of Kingsbridge to replace Julius, and Ned wanted the dean of Kingsbridge, Luke Richards, to get the job. Dean Luke was the right man – and also a friend of the Willard family.

Everyone at court wanted jobs for their friends, and Ned hesitated to pester the queen with his own personal preferences. He had learned, during five years in Elizabeth’s service, how quickly her amity could turn sour if a courtier lost sight of who served whom. So he had bided his time. However, today the queen planned to discuss bishops with her secretary of state, Sir William Cecil, and Cecil had told Ned to be there.

The palace called White Hall was a sprawl of dozens of buildings, courtyards and gardens, including a tennis court. Ned knew his way to the royal apartment and went quickly through the guardroom to a large waiting room. He was relieved to find that Cecil had not yet arrived. Susannah had been quick, as promised, and she had not delayed Ned too much.

Also in the outer chamber was the Spanish ambassador, Álvaro de la Quadra. He was pacing restlessly and looked angry, though Ned suspected the emotion might be at least partly faked. An ambassador’s job was difficult, Ned reflected: when his master was impassioned he had to convey that emotion, whether he shared it or not.

It was only a few minutes before the secretary of state came in and swept Ned along with him to the presence chamber.

Queen Elizabeth was now thirty, and she had lost the girlish bloom that had once made her almost beautiful. She was heavier, and her fondness for sugary treats had damaged her teeth. But she was in a good mood today.

‘Before we get on to bishops, let’s have the Spanish ambassador in,’ she said. Ned guessed that she had been waiting for Cecil, not wanting to be alone for a confrontation with Quadra, who represented the most powerful monarch in Europe.

Quadra’s greetings to the queen were so brisk as to be almost offensive, then he said: ‘A Spanish galleon has been attacked by English pirates.’

‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ said the queen.

‘Three noblemen were killed! Several sailors also died, and the ship was severely damaged before the pirates fled.’