Princess Elizabeth went to the window, knelt and put her bright head in her hands. “Dear God, thank you for sending me this messenger with this vision,” I heard her say softly. “I understand it, I understand my destiny today as I have never done before. Bring me to my throne that I may do my duty for you and for my people. Amen.”

I did not say “Amen,” though she glanced around to see if I had joined in her prayer; even in moments of the greatest of spirituality, Elizabeth would always be counting her supporters. But I could not pray to a God who could allow my mother to be burned to death. I could not pray to a God who could be invoked by the torchbearers. I wanted neither God nor His religion. I wanted only to get rid of the smell in my hair, in my skin, in my nostrils. I wanted to rub the smuts from my face.

She rose to her feet. “I shan’t forget this,” she said briefly. “You have given me a vision today, Hannah. I knew it before, but now I have seen it in your eyes. I have to be queen of this country and put a stop to this horror.”


In the evening, before dinner, I was summoned to the queen’s rooms and found her in conference with the king and with the new arrival and greatest favorite: the archbishop and papal legate, Cardinal Reginald Pole. I was in the presence chamber before I saw him, for if I had known he was there I would never have crossed the threshold. I was immediately, instinctively afraid of him. He had sharp piercing eyes, which would look unflinchingly at sinners and saints alike. He had spent a lifetime in exile for his beliefs and he had no doubt that everyone’s convictions could and should be tested by fire as his had been. I thought that if he saw me, even for one second, he would smell me out and know me for a Marrano – a converted Jew – and that in this new England of Catholic conviction that he and the king and the queen were making, they would exile me back to my death in Spain at the very least, and execute me in England if they could.

He glanced up as I came into the room and his gaze flicked indifferently over me, but the queen rose from the table and held out her hands in greeting. I ran to her and dropped to my knee at her feet.

“Your Grace!”

“My little fool,” she said tenderly.

I looked up at her and saw at once the changes in her appearance made by her pregnancy. Her color was good, she was rosy-cheeked, her face plumper and rounder, her eyes brighter from good health. Her belly was a proud curve only partly concealed by the loosened panel of her stomacher and the wider cut of her gown and I thought how proudly she must be letting out the lacing every day to accommodate the growing child. Her breasts were fuller too, her whole face and body proclaimed her happiness and her fertility.

With her hand resting on my head in blessing she turned to the two other men. “This is my dear little fool Hannah, who has been with me since the death of my brother. She has come a long way with me to share my joy now. She is a faithful loving girl and I use her as my little emissary with Elizabeth, who trusts her too.” She turned to me. “She is here?”

“Just arrived,” I said.

She tapped my shoulder to bid me rise and I warily got to my feet and looked at the two men.

The king was not glowing like his wife, he looked drawn and tired as if the days of winding his ways through English politics and the long English winter were a strain on a man who was used to the total power and sunny weather of the Alhambra.

The cardinal had the narrow beautiful face of the true ascetic. His gaze, sharp as a knife, went to my eyes, my mouth, and then my pageboy livery. I thought he saw at once, in that one survey, my apostasy, my desires, and my body, growing into womanhood despite my own denial and my borrowed clothes.

“A holy fool?” he asked, his tone neutral.

I bowed my head. “So they say, Your Excellency.” I flushed with embarrassment, I did not know how he should be addressed in English. We had not had a cardinal legate at court before.

“You see visions?” he asked. “Hear voices?”

It was clear to me that any grand claims would be greeted with utter skepticism. This was not a man to be taken in with mummer’s skills.

“Very rarely,” I said shortly, trying to keep my accent as English as possible. “And unfortunately, never at times of my choosing.”

“She saw that I would be queen,” Mary said. “And she foretold my brother’s death. And she came to the attention of her first master because she saw an angel in Fleet Street.”

The cardinal smiled and his dark narrow face lit up at once, and I saw that he was a charming man as well as a handsome one. “An angel?” he queried. “How did he look? How did you know him for an angel?”

“He was with some gentlemen,” I said uncomfortably. “And I could hardly see him at all for he was blazing white. And he disappeared. He was just there for a moment and then he was gone. It was the others who named him for an angel. Not me.”

“A most modest soothsayer,” the cardinal smiled. “From Spain by your accent?”

“My father was Spanish but we live in England now,” I said cautiously. I felt myself take half a step toward the queen and instantly froze. There should be no flinching, these men would detect fear quicker than anything else.

But the cardinal was not much interested in me. He smiled at the king. “Can you advise us of nothing, holy fool? We are about God’s business as it has not been done in England for generations. We are bringing the country back to the church. We are making good what has been bad for so long. And even the voices of the people in the Houses of Parliament are guided by God.”

I hesitated. It was clear to me that this was more rhetoric than a question demanding an answer. But the queen looked to me to speak.

“I would think it should be done gently,” I said. “But that is my opinion, not the voice of my gift. I just wish that it could be done gently.”

“It should be done quickly and powerfully,” the queen said. “The longer it takes the more doubts will emerge. Better to be done once and well than with a hundred small changes.”

The two men looked unconvinced. “One should never offend more men than one can persuade,” her husband, ruler of half of Europe, told her.

I saw her melt at his voice; but she did not change her opinion. “These are a stubborn people,” she said. “Given a choice they can never decide. They forced me to execute poor Jane Grey. She offered them a choice and they cannot choose. They are like children who will go from apple to plum and take a bite out of each, and spoil everything.”

The cardinal nodded at the king. “Her Grace is right,” he said. “They have suffered change and change about. Best that we should put the whole country on oath, once, and have it all done. Then we would root out heresy, destroy it, and have the country at peace and in the old ways in one move.”

The king looked thoughtful. “We must do it quickly and clearly, but with mercy,” he said. He turned to the queen. “I know your passion for the church and I admire it. But you have to be a gentle mother to your people. They have to be persuaded, not forced.”

Sweetly, she put her hand on her swelling belly. “I want to be a gentle mother indeed,” she said.

He put his hand over her own, as if they would both feel through the hard wall of the stomacher to where their baby stirred and kicked in her womb. “I know it,” he said. “Who should know better than I? And together we will make a holy Catholic inheritance for this young man of ours so that when he comes to his throne, here, and in Spain, he will be doubly blessed with the greatest lands in Christendom and the greatest peace the world has ever known.”


Will Somers was clowning at dinner, he gave me a wink as he passed my place. “Watch this,” he said. He took two small balls from the sleeve of his jerkin and threw them in the air, then added another and another, until all four were spinning at the same time.

“Skilled,” he remarked.

“But not funny,” I said.

In response, he turned his moon face toward me, as if he were completely distracted, ignoring the balls in the air. At once, they clattered down all around us, bouncing off the table, knocking over the pewter goblets, spilling wine everywhere.

The women screamed and leaped up, trying to save their gowns. Will was dumbstruck with amazement at the havoc he had caused: the Spanish grandees shouting with laughter at the sudden consternation released in the English court like a Mayday revel, the queen smiling, her hand on her belly, called out: “Oh, Will, take care!”

He bowed to her, his nose to his knees, and then came back up, radiant. “You should blame your holy fool,” he said. “She distracted me.”

“Oh, did she foresee you causing this uproar?”

“No, Your Grace,” he said sweetly. “She never foresees anything. In all the time I have known her, in all the time she has been your servant, and eaten remarkably well for a spiritual girl, she has never said one thing of any more insight than any slut might remark.”

I was laughing and protesting at the same time, the queen was laughing out loud, and the king was smiling, trying to follow the jest. “Oh, Will!” the queen reproached him. “You know that the child has the Sight!”

“Sight she may have but no speech,” Will said cheerfully. “For she has never said a word I thought worth hearing. Appetite she has, if you are keeping her for the novelty of that. She is an exceptionally good doer.”

“Why, Will!” I cried out.

“Not one word from her,” he insisted. “She is a holy fool like your man is king. In name alone.”

It was too far for the Spanish pride. The English roared at the jest but as soon as the Spanish understood it they scowled, and the queen’s smile abruptly died.