Elizabeth I Read Free Page A

in the Great Hall. The lower-ranking courtiers and household servants ate there, but my place remained empty. I wondered, fleetingly, if I should put in a public appearance today. It had been a fortnight since I had done so. But I decided against it. I did not want to be on display now. The Papal Bull and call to arms against me had rattled me more than I wanted to admit.
    “We shall eat together in here,” I told my ladies of the bedchamber.
    Three were closest to me: Catherine Carey, my cousin; Marjorie Norris, a friend since the days of my youth; and Blanche Parry, my nurse from even longer ago.
    “Open the windows,” I asked Catherine. It was a light, fine day, the sort to make butterflies dance. Some Mays were just green winters, but this one was fresh and perfumed. As the windows cranked open, the outside world came in in a puff.
    The small table was set in the middle of the chamber, and here we dispensed with the ceremonial trappings, except that we always had a taster. The servers presented the dishes in quick order, and we made our selections with no ado.
    I had no appetite. The Papal Bull had quite taken it away. But I usually did not eat much, and so today’s almost untouched plate did not attract any attention.
    Marjorie, a strapping country woman from Oxfordshire, always ate heartily. Today she was attacking a mound of pork stew and washing it down with a beaker of ale. Catherine, who was small and plump, never went beyond nibbling, so it was a mystery why she had such a round face. Marjorie was some fifteen years my senior, Catherine fifteen years my junior. Old Blanche Parry had seen eighty years. However, she saw them no more, as she had lost her eyesight recently and had to turn her duty as keeper of the royal jewels over to the younger Catherine. She sat now at the table, eating only by habit and feel, her filmed eyes staring at nothing.
    Suddenly I had the urge to lean over and pat her hand. It startled her.
    “I did not mean to frighten you,” I said. But the touch of her calming hand was soothing to me.
    “You should be ashamed, to scare an old lady so!” she scolded me.
    “Blanche, you are not an old lady,” I said.
    “If eighty isn’t old, when does it start?” she retorted.
    “A few years beyond whatever one’s age is,” I said. “Obviously, ninety.” Was there anyone still at court at ninety? I could not think of any. It was a safe age to target, then.
    “Well, my lady, there are some who say you are old,” she shot back.
    “Nonsense!” I said. “Since when is fifty-five old?”
    “It ceased being old when you reached it,” said Catherine.
    “I shall have to appoint you to an ambassadorship,” I said. “Such a diplomat! But, dear cousin, I couldn’t bear to lose you. And would you really want to live with the French or the Danes?”
    “The French for fashion, the Danes for pastries,” said Marjorie. “Not a bad choice.”
    I barely heard her. “The Armada is going to sail,” I blurted out. “It will bear down on us soon.”
    Marjorie and Catherine laid down their spoons and their faces grew rigid.
    “I knew it!” said Blanche. “I saw this coming. Long ago. I told you. Like King Arthur.”
    “What are you talking about?” Marjorie demanded. “Is it more of your Welsh mumbles? And don’t give me the nonsense about the second sight.”
    Blanche drew herself up. “I just knew King Arthur’s legacy would come round. The queen is descended from him. We all know that. My cousin Dr. Dee has proved it. Arthur left unfinished business. A final battle. A great test of England’s survival.”
    “It has nothing to do with King Arthur,” said Catherine. “The astrologers long ago predicted 1588 would be a year of great moment. All Dee has done is confirm it.”
    “The prediction, made two hundred years ago by Regiomontanas, said that 1588 would be a year of complete catastrophe for the entire world,” said Blanche calmly. The exact wording was ‘Empires will