The Tournament Read Free Page A

plague descended on the district.
    My half-brother, Edward, the heir to the throne, was whisked away. My sister Mary went soon after.
    I, apparently, was not so valuable: no-one moved with any kind of alacrity to facilitate my removal from Hatfield House, so I simply continued with my studies with Elsie and with you, my dear friend Gwinny Stubbes.
    Then one day there arose a commotion.
    We were sitting in my study reading Livy’s account of the mass Jewish suicide at Masada. Elsie, who was several years older than we were, sat in the corner at her mirror, idly brushing her hair. Oh, do you remember her, Gwinny? Lord, I do! At seventeen, Elsie was a genuine beauty, with the willowy figure of the dancer she was. Slender of waist yet pert of bosom, with gorgeous blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders, Elsie drew the eye of every passing gentleman.
    With the airy confidence common to beautiful people, she was convinced that her prettiness alone would win her a husband of suitable rank and so did not feel it necessary to study—she spent more time in front of her mirror-glass than at her books, and I must confess that in this regard I was a little envious of her. I had to endure many tiresome lessons and I had royal blood. (I was also, I should add, jealous of her womanliness, given that I was nothing less than awkwardness personified: all knobbly knees and bony arms with a chest as flat as a boy’s and a ghastly shock of curly strawberry-red hair that I hated.) That said, most of the time I worshipped Elsie, entranced by her grace, enthralled by her beauty, and awed by her worldly seventeen-year-old’s wisdom.
    It was while we were thus engaged that I heard the commotion: my governess, Miss Katherine Ashley, raised her voice in the next room.
    ‘You will do no such thing, Mr Ascham!’ It must have been serious. She only called him ‘Mr Ascham’ when she was upset with him.
    ‘But it will be the learning opportunity of a lifetime—’
    ‘She is thirteen years old —’
    ‘She is the brightest thirteen-year-old I have ever taught and mature beyond her years. Grindal agrees.’
    ‘She is a child, Roger.’
    ‘The king doesn’t think so. Why, just last month when he was informed that Bess had started to bleed, King Henry said, “If she is old enough to bleed then she is old enough to be married off for the benefit of England. Daughters have to be good for something.”’ That sounded like my father.
    ‘I don’t know,’ Miss Katherine said, ‘the kingdom of the Moslems could be a very dangerous place for her . . .’
    Mr Ascham lowered his voice, but I could still hear him.
    ‘ London is a very dangerous place for her, Kat. These are pivotal times. The king grows sicker and more erratic every day, and the court is divided in its loyalties to Edward and Mary. Our Elizabeth has the weakest claim to the throne yet her very presence in England threatens each of their claims. You know how often rival heirs die mysteriously during plagues . . .’
    Listening from behind the doorframe, I gasped softly.
    Miss Katherine was silent for a long moment.
    Mr Ascham said, ‘She will be well guarded on the journey. The king is providing six of his finest troops to escort us.’
    ‘It is not just her physical safety that concerns me. I want her morals protected, too. She will need a chaperone,’ Miss Katherine said haughtily. ‘It is scandalous enough that she should be travelling with two bachelors in yourself and Mr Giles, but soldiers, too.’
    ‘What about you and John, then?’
    ‘Oh, don’t be silly. I am far too old and far too fat to undertake such a journey.’ Miss Katherine was, it must be said, a rather large woman. She had married the kindly John Ashley only the previous year at the advanced age of forty (although she still liked me to address her as ‘Miss’ because, she said, it made her feel young).
    ‘All right, then—’ Mr Ascham rallied.
    ‘A responsible chaperone, Roger, married or at least