She nodded. "There are burdens I must accept," she said. "When I saw him standing there before me today, I could have found it in my heart to throw aside my resolutions."

Our eyes met. Those large pupils were searching lamps which looked into my mind. They made me apprehensive then as they were to so often in the future.

"I should always be guided by my destiny," she said. "We must needs accept it... Robert and I."

I felt that she was warning me in a way and I wondered what had been said of me. My attractions had not been impaired by childbearing; in fact I believe they had been enhanced. I had been aware of men's eyes following me, and I had heard it said that I was a very desirable woman.

"I will show you something," she said, and she rose and went to a drawer. She took from it a small package wrapped in paper and on the outside was written in her handwriting: "My Lord's Picture."

She undid it and there was a miniature. Robert's face looked out at me.

" Tis a very fair likeness," she said. "Think you not so?" "None could think it other than my Lord Leicester." "I showed it to Melville and he thought it a good likeness too. He wished to take it to his mistress, for he felt that once she looked on that face she would never be able to refuse him." She laughed slyly. "I would not allow him to have it. It is the only one I have of him, I told Melville, so I could not spare it. I think he understood."

She had handed it to me and now she snatched it rather sharply. She carefully wrapped it up. It was symbolic of her feelings for him. She would never let him go.

There was no doubt that Robert had believed that, having been so honored by the Queen, the next step would be marriage, and I too believed that this was really what she intended, despite her insistence on her determination to remain in the virgin state. He was very rich now—one of the richest men in England—and he immediately set about improving the castle of Kenilworth. It was only to be expected that he gave himself airs, and he was certainly on very familiar terms with the Queen. Her bedchamber was in some ways a state chamber, and after the custom of ages she had received ministers in it, but Robert continued to enter unannounced and unbidden. Once he snatched the shift from the lady whose duty it was to hand it to her and gave it to her himself; he had been seen to kiss her while she was in bed.

I was reminded of what I had heard of Elizabeth's past with Thomas Seymour when he had made free in her bedchamber; but I was growing more and more convinced that there had been no physical lovemaking between them. Elizabeth was always greatly amused by the titillation of the senses—hers and those of her admirers—and some said this was how she intended her relationships to remain.

There were a great many rumors about her and naturally these strayed far from the truth; but her matrimonial cavortings were the wonder of the world. There could never have been a queen who had been wooed so often and never won; and while this provided the utmost and enjoyable entertainment for the Queen, it was decidedly embarrassing and unflattering for her suitors.

Robert, at the head of these, was beginning to be exasperated. They were both of an age which was no longer young and surely if the Queen was going to get a healthy heir it was time she married.

As a queen she knew the importance of this and yet she dallied. When her hand had been sought by foreign princes it had been thought that she declined them because she wanted Robert Dudley; but now that time was passing and she showed no inclination to marry, all but Robert's most bitter enemies would have preferred to see her married to him since she certainly appeared to be in love with him.

However, she held back, and then people began to wonder if there was some other reason why she refused to marry. It was whispered that there was something about her which was different from other women. She could never bear children, it was hinted and, knowing this, it seemed pointless for her to marry a man merely to let him share her throne. It was whispered that her laundresses had let out the secret that she had so few monthly periods that the implication was that she could not bear children. I was of the opinion though that not one of her laundresses would have dared betray such a secret. It was a mystery, for if ever a woman was in love Elizabeth was in love at that time with Robert Dudley; and the odd thing was that she made no effort to conceal it.

I used to wonder whether her upbringing had had some effect on her. She had been a baby of three when her mother had died, but she was old enough—being exceptionally precocious—to have missed her. It seemed hardly likely that her gay and clever mother spent a great deal of time with her daughter, but I imagined the visits she did pay would have been memorable to the child. Anne Boleyn had been noted for her elegant taste and I had heard that she took a delight in dressing her daughter in beautiful garments. Then suddenly she would have disappeared. I could picture the quick-witted little girl asking questions and not being satisfied with the answers. The lovely clothes came no more and instead her governess had had to send special pleas to the King for a few necessary garments of which his daughter was in urgent need. A father would be formidable who had beheaded two wives. One stepmother had died in childbirth, another had been despised and divorced; and lastly there had been Katharine Parr, the kind and lovely Dowager Queen whose husband she had philandered with to such an extent that she had been dismissed from their home. Then had followed a life spent in and out of prisons with the executioner's ax suspended precariously over her head. And at last to come to the throne. No wonder she was determined to keep it. No wonder, with such a father, she distrusted the passions of men. Could this be the reason why she was not going to surrender one small part of her power ... even to her beloved Robert?

But he was growing very restive as the months passed and we often overheard sharp words between them. Once we heard her reminding him that she was the Queen and he had better take care. After that he would go away sullenly and she would fret for him, and he would come back and they would be friends again.

There was a great deal of talk about what was happening in Scotland.

Mary had married Darnley, much to Elizabeth's secret amusement although she pretended to be incensed about it. She used to laugh about Mary with Robert. "She'll sup sorrow with a long spoon," she said, "and to think that she might have had you, Robert."

I believed she wanted to punish Mary for not taking Robert although she, Elizabeth, had no intention that she should.

She was now winning the true respect of the wily politicians around her. Men like William Cecil, Chancellor Nicholas Bacon and the Earl of Sussex began to see in her an astute politician. Her position in the beginning had been an uneasy one. How could she feel safe when the slur of illegitimacy could be flung at her at any time? There could never have been a ruler in a more vulnerable position than Elizabeth. She was about thirty-three years of age at this time and somehow she had managed to find a place in her people's hearts which rivaled that which her father had held. In spite of everything he had done he had never lost the people's favor; he might squander the country's wealth on ventures such as the Field of the Cloth of Gold; he might take six wives and murder two of them; but he was still their hero and their King and there had never been a serious attempt to depose him. Elizabeth was his daughter in looks and in manner; her voice resembled his; she swore as he had done; everywhere she went it was said: "There goes great Harry's daughter," and she knew that this was one of the greatest advantages she possessed. No one could deny the fact that she was Henry's daughter and that there had been a time when he had accepted her as legitimate.

But she must be wary and she was. Mary Queen of Scots was a claimant to the throne. Therefore what better than to marry her to a weak dissolute youth who would help to being Scotland low and disgust those who might be inclined to favor Mary. Catharine and Mary Grey—Lady Jane's sisters—were both in the Tower, having married without the Queen's consent. Thus she had arranged that those in England who might be considered to have a greater claim to the throne than she had were safely under lock and key.

News came that the Queen of Scots was pregnant. This was disconcerting. If Mary showed herself fruitful by bearing a son, people would begin comparing her with the Queen of England. She was downcast until news came of that fateful supper in Holyrood House in Edinburgh when, before the eyes of the heavily pregnant Queen, her Italian secretary Rizzio had been murdered. She pretended to be shocked and angry when the suggestion that Rizzio was Mary's lover was mentioned, but she was secretly pleased. At the same time she was wistful. Oh, she was an enigma, this Queen of ours.

The Court was at Greenwich—a favorite palace of the Queen's because she had been born there. The presence chamber here was very fine, hung with rich tapestry, and she always enjoyed showing newcomers the room in which she was born. She would stand in that room, a strange expression in her eyes, and I wondered whether she was thinking of her mother's lying there, exhausted, with her beautiful black hair spread on the pillow. Was she thinking of the agony of Anne Boleyn when she was told: "It is a girl" when a boy would have made all the difference to her future. There would be a fierce determination in her face sometimes as though she were telling herself she would prove better than any boy.