Elizabeth: The Golden Age Read Free Page A

with over a thousand signatures.”
    Elizabeth could think of nothing she’d better prefer to put off forever than this petition. She had even hoped that he’d left the dreaded document in the Privy Chamber. She tried—and failed—to remember how many times she’d been given similar papers demanding that she marry. Once, Parliament had done it, saying that by marrying and having children, she would give herself immortality. The Speaker of the Commons had assured her that this was the single— the only—prayer of all Englishmen. But all that had done was make her wonder at the lack of imagination necessary to be able to think of nothing better to beg from God.
    She disdained demands that she take a husband, whether they came in the form of a petition or were couched as thoughtful advice from her ministers. There had been moments— some long, some brief—in which she’d nearly succumbed to the charms of her favorite gentlemen, but she’d reigned alone for too long. She had no desire to share her power, wanted no master in her house, and she turned her attention back to Bess, brushing aside a soft lock of hair that had fallen over the girl’s smooth forehead. “Don’t hide your face.”
    “The bishops of Ely and Wells are saying that the continued sterility of Your Majesty signifies God’s displeasure with us all,” Walsingham said.
    She did not reply, watching her Moor in silence before looking back to her companion. “We shall have to look out for a husband for you soon, Bess.”
    “Not too soon, my lady.” Porcelain cheeks stained red.
    “Don’t you want to be married?” the queen asked. “I’ll want the marriage if I want the man.”
    She could tell Walsingham was trying to stifle all signs of frustration. His eyes bulged, but he was not slipping into the sarcasm to which he was prone. “You’ll do as you please, of course. But at least look as if you’ve read their petition,” he said.
    “What sort of man do you want, Bess?” Elizabeth asked, continuing to ignore him.
    Bess smiled, musical laughter escaping from her rose-colored lips. “A fine gentleman-like appearance.”
    “What does that mean? Tall?”
    “Tall.” The girl paused, thought. “An open face. Friendly eyes.”
    “Personally,” Walsingham began, “I would advise you to keep the possibility open. Maintain uncertainty.”
    A vibrant spark filled the queen’s eyes. “And good legs. You’ll want good legs.” The two women moved closer together, pleasure brightening both their complexions.
    “And he’s not to eat with his mouth open, or tell the same joke over and over,” Bess said.
    Walsingham spoke with more force. “At least enter negotiations for a contract with a foreign prince. Just to show the world that England still has friends.”
    A smile spread the queen’s painted lips. “And sweet breath, Bess. So that you can kiss him without choking.”
    Walsingham’s voice rose again. “To show the world that you may yet have issue—” This got her attention. Elizabeth struck him, her sharp hand delivering a solid blow. She relished the stinging sensation on her skin.
    “Child. Say ‘child.’ You are talking like a bishop now, Moor. ‘ Issue ,’ indeed!”
    “Child, then. I was being delicate.”
    Her voice fell as she grew serious. “There’s nothing delicate about having a child. It kills women every day.”
    All lighthearted joking and lusty pleasure flew from the barge and a tense silence settled on the party. Uncaring, sunlight continued its dance on the rippling water. Elizabeth watched it, untroubled by tension. Anything was better than discussing marriage.
    When at last they’d reached their destination—no one having enjoyed the awkward remainder of the trip—they climbed off the boat and headed toward St. Paul’s Cathedral. Elizabeth turned to Walsingham with a calculated smile, ready to reconcile with him. “If I did marry, you’d do well to remember it would not necessarily solve the