Then she sank to her knees and cried: “This is the Lord’s doing and it is marvelous in our eyes.”

For a short while she gave herself up to solemn contemplation of her destiny. Then she rose and turning to him said: “Now I am indeed your Queen.”

He bowed his head and murmured: “Your Majesty … your most beautiful and beloved Majesty!”

“My friend,” she said, extending her hand to him, “my very good friend, you shall not regret the day you rode to the Queen with such news.”

She drew back as he stepped toward her. He said: “I hear others coming. The news is out.”

In a few seconds this intimacy would be over. She allowed herself to give him a caressing smile.

“Lord Robert Dudley,” she said, “from this moment you are Master of the Queen’s Horse.”

“My humble thanks, Your Majesty.”

She noted the heightened color in his cheeks. The post in itself would bring him fifteen hundred pounds a year. She thought: Never did a Queen have a more handsome Master of Her Horse than Robert Dudley.

“You are well suited for the post,” she said; “and it means that you will be in constant attendance upon me.”

He said passionately: “Your Master of Horse shall be all that Your Majesty requires of him.”

The intimacy was broken. Others were coming to proclaim Elizabeth the Queen.

FIVE

The Queen began her triumphant journey to London, and as she rode through the countryside she was smiling at the cheering people who lined her way.

“God bless the Queen!” they cried. “Long may Elizabeth reign over us!”

She was young and fair; she had always shown a fondness for the people, and they loved her. Now, they promised themselves, there would be an end to the terrible fires which had been burning, not only in Smithfield Square but in many other parts of the country. This was the end of persecution. Bloody Mary was dead and England would be merry again.

At Highgate the Bishops were waiting to receive her. She was gracious to them, although making an exception of Bonner, who had been persecutor-in-chief since the death of Gardiner. Would that old enemy were here! she brooded. It would have been pleasant to have had Master Gardiner trembling before her. The people noticed her cold manner to Bonner and they cheered afresh.

She rode on for her traditional entry to the Tower, and there was great rejoicing as she passed through the City’s gates.

Now she sat in a splendid chariot which was drawn along Barbican to Cripplegate that she might be received by the Lord Mayor and the City dignitaries. When she had received their homage she remounted her horse, and magnificent she looked in her purple velvet. There was no need now to wear somber clothes; she had no rival now. She was the Queen.

She was continually aware of her Master of Horse who rode beside her. What attention he aroused! Some of the women looked at him instead of their Queen. He glittered with jewels—a dazzling figure.

“That is Lord Robert Dudley,” people whispered, “who came so near to losing his head in the last reign. Did you ever see such a man!”

“They say he compares with His Majesty King Henry the Eighth in the days of his glowing youth.”

Let him win their approval, meditated the Queen. Let them all see him as she saw him. She was not sure what role she had in store for him; and she wanted the people to retain a picture of him—magnificent, towering above all others.

Music filled the air; gay tapestry banners hung from the windows. As she reached the Church of Blanch Chapleton on the corner of Mart Lane she heard the Tower guns begin to boom. Through Tower Street she went, and she paused to listen to the children of St. Paul’s singing her praises, remembering—it seemed long ago now—how they had sung her sister’s.

She prayed: “Oh God, help me in this task. Help me to play my part nobly and honorably.”

She was filled with emotion. Her greatest desire had been granted; she must prepare herself to fulfill her duty and be worthy of the role. She was even glad of her misfortunes for she had come safely through them, and they had taught her more than easy living would have done.

All these people who cheered her now should be her first consideration. She would not be foolish as her sister Mary had been. Mary too had ridden into London to the cheers of her people; but these same people now called her Bloody Mary; they reviled her for making a Spanish marriage and bringing foreigners among them; they blamed her for the loss of Calais; they rejoiced that she was dead.

It should not be so with Elizabeth. They should love her, these common people, all the days of her life. They were her strength; she would sacrifice anything rather than their devotion. She must never forget that they were the pillars which supported the throne.

At this sacred time she was oblivious of the picture she made in her purple velvet; she had forgotten her Master of Horse; she was only a Queen, determined to rule wisely, determined to make her country great.

It was a solemn moment when she entered the Tower.

All the officials were waiting to make obeisance to her. She dismounted. All about her were the nobility of England; and instead of the pride she had expected to feel at such a time, she was conscious only of a deep humility.

The words she spoke were spontaneous. “Some,” she said, “have fallen from Princes in this land, to be prisoners in this place; I am raised from being a prisoner in this place to be a Prince of this land. That dejection was a work of God’s justice; this advancement is a work of His mercy. As they were to yield patience for the one, so I must bear myself to God thankful, and to men merciful for the other.”

She turned then to the Lieutenant of the Tower.

“Conduct me now to those apartments which I occupied when I was a prisoner here.”

This was done, and she went into them wonderingly; and in great emotion she fell once more upon her knees and thanked God for her deliverance. “For,” she said, “like Daniel I have come safely out of the lions’ den, and I shall never forget His Mercy.”

There was no sign of the frivolous girl on that memorable day when Elizabeth came to the Tower of London as Queen.

Mary was buried with great pomp, and the Queen attended the burial. Dr. White, the Bishop of Winchester, preached the funeral sermon, and that day he proved himself to be a bold man.

He spoke of the late Queen, sighing over her many virtues, and he spoke with vehement regret. She had been a wise woman, a great Queen; she had renounced Church Supremacy; she had declared that St. Paul forbade women to speak in Church and that it was not therefore fitting for the Church to have a dumb head.

How dared he speak thus! brooded the young Queen, as she sat quietly before him. How dared he, the old graybeard! He doubtless saw only a young woman sitting before him; he would have to learn something of the spirit within that youthful body.

Fortunately the sermon was in Latin and there were few who understood as Elizabeth did.

He wept when he talked of Mary, declaring that their greatly lamented Queen had left a sister who was a worthy lady whom they were all obliged to obey. This they must do perforce. Melior est canis vivus leone mortuo.

The blue eyes were burning points of fire. She a live dog and Mary a dead lion! He should learn something of the lion heart beneath these glittering queenly jewels. The insolent man clearly did not understand the nature of his Queen. A live dog indeed!

As Dr. White left the pulpit, the Queen rose. She cried to her guards: “Arrest that man.”

The Bishop lifted a hand to hold off the guards who had immediately sprung forward to carry out the Queen’s orders.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “it is in my power to excommunicate you unless you insist that your subjects adhere to Rome.”

Her father would have sent him to his death. But she was not yet as strong as her father, although in one way she was stronger. The years of danger had taught her to curb her anger when it was necessary to do so. She could see in the Bishop’s eyes what she believed to be a fervent desire for martyrdom. She would not let him indulge it. The people had hated persecutions. She had stopped them, and men such as this Bishop should not goad her into restarting them.

Calmly she watched her orders being carried out. Let him cool his fanaticism in prison. Time would show her how to act, for Time was as important to a Queen as it had been to a captive Princess.

The Queen gathered together her Privy Council. William Cecil was at her right hand, and she gave the Great Seal to Nicholas Bacon; and of the late Queen’s Council, Lord William Howard, with Arundel and Sackville, were allowed to remain in office.

So far none had noticed the tender looks which she bestowed on her Master of Horse. His office meant that he must necessarily be in constant attendance; and the fact that he had been chosen for the post aroused no comment. His knowledge of equestrian matters was undoubtedly great; and all agreed that no one looked quite so magnificent on a horse as the handsome Dudley.

But during those first weeks of queenship, Elizabeth’s thoughts were more of state matters than of love. Each morning she awakened to a sense of power and excitement, but never did she forget those lessons she had learned during the days of adversity.

Her first task was to break away from the Pope, and this she must do without offending her Catholic subjects, for they were many. Therefore there should be no overt break. The change should be gradual, so that she might feel the temper of the people as she made it.