“In time, my lord. In the Queen’s good time.”

“For God’s sake, Cecil, have you no pity in you?” “My lord! You are forbidden London, and yet you came. You’re in no position to ask me for anything. Await my word on this matter Greenwood and be thankful that I haven’t ordered your arrest. and please avoid being seen. Master Morgan!”

The secretary nearly fell through the door.

“Master Morgan, show these gentlemen out through my private entrance.”

They were dismissed, and Cecil was once more in control of the situation. Robbie could see that Niall wanted to argue. He looked to de Marisco, and Adam clamped a firm hand on Lord Burke’s shoulder. “Come on, man,” said Adam gently. Niall sighed, an angry, frustrated sigh, but he nodded and followed Robbie out of Cecil’s closet.

In the tower, Skye had awakened with a sense of hopeless futility. she relieved herself in the chamberpot, and then, picking up Deirdre, changed her wet napkin. Climbing back into bed with her daughter, Skye put her to her breast. They would question her again today as they had been questioning her nearly every day for the last month and she would fight them again today as she had been fighting them for the last month. She would ask for a list of the charges against her, demand her immediate release, and say nothing more. Dudley had been removed from the council, but the Earl of Shrewsbury fightened her with his cold eyes and exaggeratedly polite ways. Deirdre suckled noisily, smacking her little lips with pleasure, and Skye smiled down at the baby. Gently she rubbed the little head with its silky dark curls. Yesterday they had threatened to take the baby away from her. She had stared at them in stony silence, refusing even to acknowledge the threat, but she knew she would have to and Deirdre down to Devon with Eibhlin very soon. Dearest Eibhilin! She had imprisoned herself with Skye, never once leaving the tower for fear of not being allowed back inside. Recently even Daisy had ceased her trips to the city markets when Lady Alyce had sent a warning that if she left, she’d not be allowed to return. Now Dudley, though removed from the council, was sniffing about the Tower like a wolf after a staked goat, and Skye was genuinely frightened. She was the Queen’s prisoner, and helpless Elizabeth’s favorite chose to assault her. The baby hiccoughed, Skye patted her back. I will not be beaten, she thought. I won’t! At Greenwood Niall Burke paced helplessly. Outside the rain drizzled softly, pale gray dripping into the darker gray river. Along the river banks the yellow willows had begun to send forth their pale green leaves, but the rain showed no signs of letting up. The graceful trees reminded Niall of his stepdaughter.

Before he had left Lynmouth she had come to him and said, “You will bring my mama home, Niall? Promise me!” And he had looked down into her little face-heart-shaped like Skye’s, but with features he didn’t recognize-and he had promised.

Downriver in the Pool, Lord Burghley leaned weakly over the Gazelle’s rail, vomiting the entire contents of his belly into the roiling dark waters of the Thames. Next to him, and just as sick, was the Spanish ambassador’s second secretary, a Christian Moot who could read Arabic well enough to stumble through the passages pointed out to him by Robbie. He had corroborated the story told Cecil by Niall, de Marisco, and Small.

The sight that had greeted the men had been hideous, a vision neither would ever be able to forget. Bodies. Rotting bodies, scraps of cloth and flesh still clinging to the skeletons. And the smell! The terrible, terrible smell that even their clove-studded pomander orange balls couldn’t wipe out. Cecil couldn’t even remember later how he was transferred over to the Mermaid, but he was there after a little while and a cup of strong red wine was pressed upon him. He gagged, still smelling the rot. His whole body was cold and clammy with perspiration. He mastered his stomach, and took a sip of the wine, but the smell of death was still in his nostrils and he retched, tasting the sour bile of his now-empty stomach mixed with the strong wine.

A sympathetic Captain Sir Robert Small handed him a basin into which Cecil spat. “Try another sip, my lord. It’ll stay down, eventually.” Cecil swallowed again, and although his stomach rolled rebelliously the wine remained where it was. Warmth began to seep back into his body.

“Well,” said Robbie, “You’ve seen the evidence with your own eyes, my lord, and the Spaniard’s confirmed the log entry. Will you now release Lady Burke?”

“Aye,” said Cecil weakly. “It would appear that we have made… an unfortunate mistake.”

“When?” Robbie’s voice was sharp.

“In a few days, Sir Robert. I must tell the Queen and then, of course, Her Majesty must sign the release for Lady Burke.” “You’ll let Lord Burke see his wife and child?”

The wine was strengthening Cecil. “No,” he said firmly. “Lord Burke was forbidden to leave Devon. The Queen is not to know he’s Here now, for it would anger her to learn that he disobeyed her. I will tell her that I have sent for him to come up to London and escort his family home, knowing Her Majesty would want it so. That way, when we release Lady Burke, her husband’s appearance will not offend the Queen.”

At Greenwich, Elizabeth Tudor had dismissed her maids of honor, and lay contented in Robert Dudley’s arms, luxuriating before a crackling fire. Her dressing gown was open to her navel, and she purred with pleasure as he stroked her small breasts. “Bess, for God’s sake let me!” he pleaded, as he had pleaded so many times before. He didn’t know why he allowed her to do this to him. She used him to satisfy her curiosity about sexual matters, but she never actually gave anything of herself.

“No, Rob,” she chided demurely. “I must remain a maid until I wed.” She felt his ill-concealed lust, and wondered, as she had wondered so many times before, why this selfish, shallow, ambitious man attracted her so.

/ wed, she had said. Not we wed, he reflected bitterly. Was what the gleefully malicious gossips said true? Were his chances of being England’s King over with? Angrily he bent and kissed her. It was a brutal kiss, a cruel kiss of such intense love-hate that Elizabeth shivered with delight. “I want you, Bess,” he muttered furiously, and I mean to have you!” He yanked her beneath him and, straddling her, pushed her skirts up, exposing her long, slender legs with their black silk stockings, gold lace garters, and milk-white thighs. “Rob! Rob!” she protested as he fumbled with his own clothing, what you’re doing is treason! Stop at once! Would you rape your Queen?” But her black eyes were dancing with excitement. This was he furthest they had ever gone in their charade.

“Aye, Bessie, I’d rape you! You’ve played your teasing game with me once too often. You can hang me afterward, but by God, I’ll have you now!” He had managed to release his swollen organ from its bindings. She’ll not hang me, he was thinking. One good pending, and she’ll belong to me forever! I should have done this three years ago!

Beneath him the Queen struggled physically and mentally. As he rubbed his hardened manroot against her throbbing clitoris she wonlered if she dared let him do this thing to her. Maybe just this once, so she could truly know what it was all about. No! No man must ever have dominion over her! Look what had happened to her mother, to Anne of Cleves, to poor Cat Howard! Subjected to her father by love, lust, and ambition, they had all paid a terrible price. If she let him do this to her even once and there was a child, she would be forced to marry him! Never! No!

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. “Majesty, it’s Lord Burghley. He says it is urgent.”

‘Tell him to go away!” hissed Dudley.

“We will receive him!” the Queen cried out, and the Earl of Leicester swore violently. “Bitch! Oh, God, Bess, you’re a bitch!” He struggled off her, pulling his clothes together. “Straighten your gown, for pity’s sake, Bess! If being Queen is more important to you than being a woman, then you’d best look like a Queen.” The door opened, and the maid of honor announced, “Lord Burghley, Your Majesty.” The maid of honor was red-haired Lettice Knollys. She cast Dudley an amused glance, and he knew that she knew.

She’d probably been listening at the door. Another bitch! “Madam,” Cecil bowed. “I regret disturbing your leisure, but I have received important information in the matter of Lady Burke.” “She has confessed?” Elizabeth looked eager.

“No, madam. It would appear that she is not guilty at all. The evidence presented me is irrefutable. Sir Robert Small and Adam de Marisco, the lord of Lundy Isle, came up from Devon to present it.”

“And what is this evidence?”

Her chancellor told the story simply but thoroughly. “Their story would appear to be a logical explanation of the pirating of King Philip’s treasure ship, especially since much of the treasure was on this ship. Since no evidence can be found against Lady Burke, and believing that you will want to release her now, I have sent for Lord Burke.”

“You take a great deal upon yourself, Cecil,” said Dudley arrogantly.

“D’you now speak for the Queen, Leicester?” Burghley snapped. His hatred of Robert had not lessened over the years. Now he fully intended seeing that Lady Burke was released. Damn the vain fool and his role in all this! Had Dudley not forced himself upon the beautiful Countess of Lynmouth and had Elizabeth not condoned his outrageous behavior, Lady Burke would never have needed to revenge herself on the Queen. William Cecil did not for one moment believe the tale of the Gazelle, but he would swear with his dying breath that he did, for it was the best way out of an impossible situation. Which portions of the Gazelle story were true and which were not interested him not at all. Cecil gazed expectantly at the Queen.