Cecil’s response was wholly satisfying. His head came up; he looked astounded. “The queen has proposed marriage?”

“Through an intermediary. Did you not know of this?”

Cecil shook his head, refusing to answer. Information was currency to Cecil and, unlike Gresham, he believed that there was neither good nor bad coinage in the currency of information. It was all valuable.

“Do you know the intermediary?” he asked.

“Lady Mary Sidney,” the man said. “One of the queen’s own ladies.”

Cecil nodded; perhaps this was the ripple from the stone he had thrown. “And Lady Mary had a proposal?”

“That the archduke should come at once to pay the queen a visit, as if in politeness. That she will accept a proposal of marriage at that visit. The terms will be drawn up at once, and that the wedding will take place by Christmas.”

Cecil’s face was a frozen mask. “And what did His Excellency think of this proposal?”

“He thought it could be done now or never,” the man said bluntly. “He thinks she hopes to save her reputation before any worse is said of her. He thinks she has seen reason at last.”

“He said this aloud?”

“He dictated it to me to translate into code to send to King Philip.”

“You do not bring me a copy of the letter?”

“I dare not,” the man said briefly. “He is no fool. I risk my life even telling you this much.”

Cecil waved the danger aside. “Lady Mary would no doubt have told me in the morning, had I not known of it already from the queen herself.”

The man looked a little dashed. “But would she tell you that my master has written to the archduke this very night to recommend that he comes at once on this visit? That Caspar von Breuner has sent for Austrian lawyers to draw up the marriage contract? That this time we believe the queen is in earnest and we are going ahead? And the archduke should be here by November?”

“No, that is good news,” Cecil said. “Anything else?”

The man looked thoughtful. “That is all. Shall I come again when I have more?”

Cecil reached into the drawer of his desk and drew out a small leather purse. “Yes. This is for now. And as for your papers, they will be drawn up for you…” He paused.

“When?” the man asked eagerly.

“When the marriage is solemnized,” Cecil said. “We can all rest safe in our beds when that takes place. Did you say Christmas?”

“The queen herself named Christmas as her wedding day.”

“Then I shall give you your papers to allow you to stay in England when your master, the archduke, is named Elizabeth’s consort.”

The man bowed in assent and then hesitated before leaving. “You always have a purse for me in that drawer,” he said curiously. “Do you expect me to come, or do so many men report to you that you have their fee ready?”

Cecil, whose informants now numbered more than a thousand, smiled. “Only you,” he said sweetly.


Robert arrived at Hayes Court in September, in quiet and somber mood, his face grim.

Amy, watching him from an upper window, thought that she had not seen that desolate look on his face since he had come home from the siege of Calais when England had lost its last foothold in France. Slowly, she went downstairs, wondering what he had lost now.

He was dismounting from his horse; he greeted her with a cursory kiss on the cheek.

“My lord,” Amy said in greeting. “Are you unwell?”

“No,” he said shortly. Amy wanted to cling to him, to treasure his touch but gently he put her aside. “Let me go, Amy, I am dirty.”

“I don’t mind!”

“But I do.” He turned; his friend John Hayes was coming down the front steps of the house.

“Sir Robert! I thought I heard horses!”

Robert clapped John on the back. “No need to ask how you are,” he said cheerfully. “You’re putting on weight, John. Obviously not hunting enough.”

“But you look dreadful.” His friend was concerned. “Are you sick, sir?”

Robert shrugged. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Court life?” John said, guessing quickly.

“It would be easier to dance the volta in hell than survive in London,” Robert said precisely. “Between Her Grace, and Sir William Cecil, and the women of the queen’s chamber, and the Privy Council, my head is spinning from dawn when I get up to check the stables, till midnight when I can finally leave the court and go to bed.”

“Come and have a glass of ale,” John offered. “Tell me all about it.”

“I stink of horse,” Robert said.

“Oh, who cares for that?”

The two men turned and went toward the house. Amy was about to follow them and then she dropped back and let them go on. She thought that perhaps her husband would be relieved if he could talk alone with his friend, and would perhaps be easier, not constrained by her presence. But she crept after them and sat on the wooden chair in the hall, outside the closed door, so that she should be there for him when he came out.


The ale helped Robert’s bad temper, and then a wash in hot, scented water and a change of clothes. A good dinner completed the change; Mrs. Minchin was a famously lavish housekeeper. By six in the evening when the four of them, Sir Robert, Amy, Lizzie Oddingsell, and John Hayes, sat down to a game of cards, his lordship was restored to his usual sweet temper and his face was less drawn. By nightfall he was tipsy and Amy realized that she would get no sense from him that evening. They went to bed together, and she hoped that they would make love, but he merely turned away, heaved the covers high over his shoulders, and fell into a deep sleep. Amy, lying awake in the darkness, did not think that she should wake him since he was tired, and in any case, she never initiated their lovemaking. She wanted him; but she did not know where to begin—his smooth unyielding back did not respond to her tentative touch. She turned away herself, and watched the moonlight coming through the slats of the shutters, listened to his heavy breathing, and remembered her duty before God to love her husband whatever the circumstances. She resolved to be a better wife to him in the morning.


“Would you like to ride with me, Amy?” Robert asked politely at breakfast. “I have to keep my hunter fit, but I shan’t go too far or too fast today.”

“I should like to come,” she said at once. “But don’t you think it will rain?”

He was not listening; he had turned his head and ordered his manservant to get the horses ready.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I only said I was afraid it will rain,” she repeated.

“Then we will come home again.”

Amy flushed, thinking that she had sounded like a fool.

On the ride it was not much better. She could think of nothing to say but the most obvious banalities about the weather and the fields on either side of them, while he rode, his face dark, his eyes abstracted, his gaze fixed on the track ahead of them but seeing nothing.

“Are you well, my lord?” Amy asked quietly when they turned for home. “You do not seem yourself at all.”

He looked at her as if he had forgotten that she was there. “Oh, Amy. Yes, I am well enough. A little troubled by events at court.”

“What events?”

He smiled as if he were being interrogated by a child. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“You can tell me,” she assured him. “I am your wife. I want to know if something troubles you. Is it the queen?”

“She is in great danger,” he said. “Every day there is news of another plot against her. There never was a queen who was more loved by half the people and yet more hated by the others.”

“So many people think she has no right to the throne,” Amy remarked. “They say that since she was a bastard, it should have gone to Mary, Queen of Scots, and then the kingdoms would be united now, without a war, without the change to the church, without the trouble that Elizabeth brings.”

Robert choked on his surprise. “Amy, whatever are you thinking? This is treason that you are speaking to me. Pray God you never say such a thing to anyone else. And you should never repeat it, even to me.”

“It’s only the truth,” Amy observed calmly.

“She is the anointed Queen of England.”

“Her own father declared her to be a bastard, and that was never revoked,” Amy said reasonably enough. “She has not even revoked it herself.”

“There is no doubt that she is his legitimate daughter,” Robert said flatly.

“Excuse me, husband, but there is every doubt,” Amy said politely. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to see it, but facts are facts.”

Robert was astounded by her confidence. “Good God, Amy, what has come over you? Who have you been talking to? Who has filled your head with this nonsense?”

“No one, of course. Who do I ever see but your friends?” she asked.

For a moment, he thought she was being sarcastic and he looked sharply at her, but her face was serene, her smile as sweet as ever.

“Amy, I am serious. There are men all round England with their tongues slit for less than you have said.”

She nodded. “How cruel of her to torture innocent men for speaking nothing but the truth.”

They rode for a moment in silence, Robert utterly baffled by the sudden uprising in his own household.

“Have you always thought like this?” he asked quietly. “Even though you have always known that I supported her? That I was proud to be her friend?”

Amy nodded. “Always. I never thought her claim was the best.”

“You have never said anything to me.”

She shot him a little smile. “You never asked me.”

“I would have been glad to know that I had a traitor in my household.”