Elizabeth: The Golden Age Read Free Page B

problem of succession. A child of mine might not make a good heir. It could grow out of kind and become perhaps ungracious.”
    Walsingham opened his mouth to reply, but Elizabeth silenced him with a shake of her head and continued toward the steps of the cathedral. The long Gothic building loomed above them, taller than the other buildings of the city despite the fact that its spire had been destroyed by a lightning strike. Scaffolding surrounded the church as renovations, funded in part by the queen, were underway. Inside, the nave’s Norman triforium and vaulted ceiling soared, though much of the splendid medieval decoration had been removed. No signs of Papist superstition and idolatry were welcome in an Anglican church.
    But the reformists had left the stained glass, and Elizabeth looked up at the rose window as she entered, sent Bess back to her place among the other ladies-in-waiting, and then spoke, her voice hard but quiet, to Walsingham.
    “I have darker concerns than marriage. Shipbuilders are being recruited in Spanish ports at double wages. The seawall at Dover is cracking. There’s no money to rebuild our defenses. I don’t need advisors to tell me my business.”
    “They care for your safety, Majesty. The threats to your person are real.”
    “And they know very well that if I fall, they all come tumbling down after me.” She had reached the steps at the foot of the altar, lowered herself to her knees, and began to pray. Without turning around, she held a hand out behind her. Bess stepped forward, taking it at once, and knelt to join her queen in prayer. The warmth of the girl’s hand brought a smile to Elizabeth’s face. Surely friendship was a more reliable cure for loneliness than marriage.
    
    Far from London, a ship drew into view of Dover’s white cliffs. Birds dipped and soared, black streaks against the bright chalk, their sharp cries carrying far over the open water, and the slim green strip of land atop the high ridge called out to sailors elated at the sight of England. The weariness that had set in during their long journey home evaporated in an instant. Already they could imagine their homes, their wives, food that hadn’t been stored in brine or dried until it was barely edible. Comfort was long overdue these men, and now that it was so close, they worked with an energy they’d not had in months.
    They pulled ropes, unfurled the dingy canvas sails of their square-rigged ship. Every inch of the Tyger was battered and worn, its wood bleached from long hours in the sun, paint beginning to peel. But the ship was solid and returned from the New World carrying treasure and stories of endless adventure.
    They’d skirmished with Spanish vessels and plundered more than a few. But they’d spent most of their time scouting out locations for future English colonies, because their captain’s primary mission was to find a place suitable for permanent settlement—a city that would start the English empire, bringing glory to his country but also to himself. He’d decided on the island of Roanoke, a place where crops grew at astonishing speeds in the fertile soil and the natives they’d encountered were gentle and faithful, greeting strangers with no aggression.
    The indigenous people were everything exotic, with their walnut-colored skin and clothing of leather. But they were far from uncivilized. They were farmers who cultivated fields, fishermen with boats. Their houses were built from cedar, surrounded by stockades made from tall logs whose tops had been sharpened to deadly points. Thomas Harriot, the expedition’s scholar and scientist, had set to learning their language, Algonquin, and succeeded in teaching English to two natives who had decided to leave their tribal homes near Roanoke and go to England.
    Manteo was a chief of the Croatoans, and Wanchese a high-ranking member of the Winginas. They’d entertained the sailors admirably during the journey home, Harriot translating