The Queen's Fool

Winter 1555

Christmas was celebrated at court with much weighty ceremony but no joy, just as Elizabeth had predicted. Everyone remembered that last year Queen Mary had swirled around the court with her stomacher unlaced and her big belly carried proudly before her. Last year we had been waiting for our prince. This year we knew that there could not be one, for the king had left the queen’s bed and her red eyes and thin body attested to the fact that she was sterile and alone. All autumn there had been rumors of plots and counterplots, it was said that the English people could not tolerate to be ruled by a Spanish king. Philip’s father was going to hand over the empire to his son and then most of Christendom would be under his command. People muttered that England was an outlying island to him, that he would rule it through the barren queen who did not cease to adore him though everyone knew he had taken a mistress and would never come home to her again.

The queen must have heard at least half of this gossip, the council kept her informed of the threats that were made against her husband, against herself, against her throne. She grew very quiet and withdrawn and determined. She held to her vision of a peaceful religious country where men and women would be safe in the church of their fathers, and she tried to believe that she could bring this about if she did not waver from her duty, however much it might cost her. The queen’s council passed a new law which said that a heretic who repented on the stake had changed his mind too late – he should still be burned to death. Also, anyone who sympathized with his fate would be burned too.

The cold wet winter turned to a wetter spring. The queen waited for letters which came more and more infrequently and brought her little joy.

One evening in early May she announced her intention of spending the whole night in prayer and sent me and all her ladies away. I was glad to be excused from yet another long silent evening when we sewed by the fireside and tried not to notice when the queen’s tears drenched the linen shirt that she was stitching for the king.

I was walking briskly to the chamber that I shared with three of the other maids when I saw a shadow by a doorway in the gallery. I did not hesitate, I would never pause for someone waiting to speak to me, and he had to fall into step beside me and keep to my rapid pace.

“You must come with me, Hannah Verde,” he said.

Even at the sound of my full name I did not pause.

“I only obey the queen.”

Like a slow flag unfurling he held before me a rolled scroll and dropped one end to let it fall open. Almost despite myself I felt my feet slow and stop. I saw the seals at the bottom and my name at the top, Hannah Verde, alias Hannah Green, alias Hannah the Fool.

“What is this?” I asked, though I knew.

“A warrant,” he said.

“A warrant for what?” I asked, though I knew.

“For your arrest, for heresy,” he said.

“Heresy?” I breathed, as if I had never heard the word before, as if I had not been waiting for this moment every day since they had taken my mother.

“Yes, maid, heresy,” he said.

“I will see the queen about this.” I half turned back to run to her.

“You will come with me,” he said and took my arm and waist in a grip which I could not have fought even if my strength had not been bleeding away in my terror.

“The queen will intercede for me!” I whimpered, hearing my voice as weak as a child’s.

“This is a royal warrant,” he said simply. “You are to be arrested for questioning and she has given her authority.”

They took me to St. Paul’s in the city and they kept me overnight in a prison room with a woman who had been racked so badly that she lay like a rag doll in the corner of the cell, her arm bones and leg bones broken, her spine disjointed, her feet pointing outward like the hands of a clock showing a quarter to three. From her bloodied lips came a moan like the sigh of the wind. All night she breathed out her pain like a breeze in springtime. With us also was a woman whose nails had been pulled from her fingers. She nursed her broken hands in her lap and did not look up when they turned the key in the door and thrust me inside. She had her mouth pursed in a funny little grimace, then I realized they had cut out her tongue as well.

I hunkered down like a beggar on the threshold, my back to the door. They said nothing to me: the broken moaner and the dumb one without fingernails. In my terror, I said nothing to them. I watched the moonlight stroll across the floor, illuminating first the woman whose body was twisted like a dolly, and then shining on the fingers of the woman who cupped her hands in her lap and pursed her lips. In the silver light her fingertips looked as black as nibs dipped in printers’ ink.

The night passed in the end, though I thought that it would last forever.

In the morning the door swung open and neither woman raised her head. The stillness of the racked woman made her look as if she were dead, perhaps she was. “Hannah Verde,” the voice outside said.

I tried to rise to my feet in obedience but my legs buckled beneath me from sheer terror. I knew that I could not have my fingernails torn out without screaming for mercy, telling everything I knew. I could not be tied to the rack without betraying my lord, Elizabeth, John Dee, every name I had ever heard whispered, names that had never even been mentioned. Since I could not even stand on my own two feet when they summoned me, how would I ever defy them?

The guard scooped me up in his arms, dragged me along, my feet scrabbling like a drunkard’s on the stones behind us. He stank of ale, and a worse smell, smoke and burning fat which clung to his woolen cape. I realized that the smell was from the fires, the smoke from the kindling and the brands, the fat from the bubbling skin of dying men and women. As the realization came to me I felt my stomach rebel and I choked on vomit.

“Here, watch out!” he said irritably, and thrust my head away from him so he banged my face against the stone wall.

He dragged me up some steps, and then across a courtyard.

“Where?” I said faintly.

“Bishop Bonner,” he said shortly. “God help you.”

“Amen,” I said promptly, as if accurate observation now would save me. “Dear God, Amen.”

I knew I was lost. I could not speak, let alone defend myself. I thought what a fool of a girl I had been not to go with Daniel when he would have saved me. What an arrogant child I had been to think that I could weave my way through these plots and not attract notice. Me, with olive skin and dark eyes, and a name like Hannah?

We came to a paneled door, monstrous with hammered nails. He tapped on it, opened it at a call from within, and walked in, arms tight around me as if we were mismatched lovers.

The bishop was sitting at a table facing the door; his clerk had his back to the door. A chair was set at a distance facing both table and bishop. The jailor dumped me roughly into it and stood back, closed the door and set himself before it.

“Name?” the bishop asked wearily.

“Hannah Verde,” the jailor answered, while I searched for my voice and found it was lost in terror.

“Age?”

He reached forward and prodded my shoulder.

“Seventeen,” I whispered.

“What?”

“Seventeen,” I said, a little louder. I had forgotten the meticulous recordkeeping of the Inquisition, the bureaucracy of terror. First they would take my name, my age, my address, my occupation, the name of my father and my mother, their address, their occupations, the names of my grandparents and their address and occupations, and then, and only then, when they had everything named and labeled, they would torture me until I spilled out everything I knew, everything I could imagine, and everything that I thought they might want to know.

“Occupation?”

“Fool to the queen,” I said.

There was a splashing noise in the room, a childish damp warmth in my breeches, and a shameful stable smell. I had pissed myself for fear. I bowed my head, mortification overlaying my terror.

The clerk raised his head as if alerted by the warm sharp smell. He turned and observed me. “Oh, I can vouch for this girl,” he said as if it were a matter of very little interest.

It was John Dee.

I was beyond recognizing him, beyond wondering how he came to be the bishop’s clerk having been the bishop’s prisoner. I just met his neutral look with the blank eyes of a girl too frightened to think for herself.

“Can you?” asked the bishop doubtfully.

John Dee nodded. “She is a holy fool,” he said. “She once saw an angel in Fleet Street.”

“That must be heretical,” the bishop maintained.

John Dee considered it for a moment, as if it were not a matter of life and death to me. “No, a true vision I think, and Queen Mary thinks the same. She will not be best pleased when she discovers we have arrested her fool.”

That gave the bishop pause. I could see him hesitate. “The queen’s orders to me are to root out heresy wherever I find it, in her household, in the streets, and to show no favor. The girl was arrested with a royal warrant.”

“Oh well, as you wish,” John Dee said negligently.

I opened my mouth to speak but no words came. I could not believe that he would defend me so halfheartedly. Yet here he was, turning his back to me once more and copying my name into the Inquisition’s ledger.

“Details,” Bishop Bonner said.

“Subject was seen to look away at the elevation of the Host on the morning of 27 December,” John Dee read in a clerkly mutter. “Subject asked the queen to show mercy to heretics before the court. Subject is a familiar to Princess Elizabeth. Subject has a knowledge of learning and languages unbecoming in a woman.”

“How d’you plead?” Bishop Bonner asked me.

“I did not look from the elevation of the Host…” I started, my voice weary and hopeless. If John Dee was not going to support me then I was a dead woman on this one charge alone. And once they started to investigate my journey across Europe and the family of my betrothed, I would be identified as a Jew and that would mean the death of me, of my father, of Daniel, of his family, and of their friends, men and women I did not even know, families in London, in Bristol, in York.

“Oh! This is nothing but malice,” John Dee exclaimed impatiently.

“Eh?” the bishop said.

“Malicious complaint,” John Dee said briskly and pushed the ledger away. “Do they really think we have the time for maids’ gossip? We are supposed to be rooting out heresy here, and they bring us the quarrels of waiting maids.”

The bishop glanced at the paper. “Sympathy with heretics?” he queried. “That’s enough for burning.”

John Dee raised his head and smiled confidently at his master. “She’s a holy fool,” he said, laughter in his voice. “It’s her task in life to ask the questions that no sane man would ask. She talks nonsense, she is supposed to talk nonsense, shall we ask her to account for singing fiddle-dee-dee? Billycock sat on billycock hill? I think we should send out a very stiff letter to say that we will not be mocked by nonsensical accusations. We will not be used for the settling of servants’ rivalries. We are hunting out enemies of the faith, not tormenting half-wit girls.”

“Let her go?” the bishop asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Sign here,” John Dee said, sliding a paper across the desk. “Let’s get rid of her and get on with our work. The child is a fool, we would be fools to question her.”

I held my breath.

The bishop signed.

“Take her away,” John Dee said wearily. He swung round in his seat to face me. “Hannah Verde, also known as Hannah the Fool, we are releasing you from an inquiry into heresy. No charge to answer. D’you have wit enough to understand that, child?”

“Yes, sir,” I said very quietly.

John Dee nodded to the jailor. “Release her.”

I pushed myself up from the chair, my legs were still too weak to hold me. The guard slid a hand around my waist and kept me on my feet. “The women in my cell,” I said quietly to John Dee. “One is dying, and the other has had her fingernails ripped out.”

John Dee burst into a crack of laughter as if I had told him the most delightfully bawdy jest, and Bishop Bonner gave forth a great bellow.

“She is priceless!” the bishop shouted. “Anything else I can do for you, fool? Any complaints about your breakfast? About your bed?”

I looked from the red roaring face of the bishop to the twinkling smile of his clerk and shook my head. I bowed my head to the bishop, and to the man I had once been honored to know, and I left them with their bloodstained hands to interrogate innocent people and send them out to be burned.

I did not see how to get back to the court at Greenwich. When they turned me roughly out into the dirty street I wandered around at the back of St. Paul’s and stumbled blindly until I felt I had put a safe distance between the tower’s ominous reaching shadow and my frightened weaving steps. Then I slumped in a doorway like a vagrant and shook, as if I had the ague. A householder shouted at me to clear off and take the plague with me, and I moved on one doorway and collapsed again.

The bright sunshine burned into my face and showed me that it was past midday. After a long time on the cold step, I pushed myself up and walked a short way. I found I was crying like a baby and had to stop once more. Step by step I went on, pausing when my legs buckled underneath me until I found my way to our little shop off Fleet Street and hammered on our neighbor’s door.

“Dear God, what has become of you?”

I managed a twisted smile. “I have a fever,” I said. “I forgot my key, and lost my way. Would you let me in?”

He stepped back from me. In these times of hardship everyone was afraid of infection. “Do you need food?”

“Yes,” I said, too low for pride.

“I will leave you something on the doorstep,” he said. “Here’s the key.”

I took it wordlessly, and staggered to the shop. It turned in the lock and I stepped into the shuttered room. At once the precious scent of printers’ ink and dry paper surrounded me. I stood, inhaling it, the very perfume of heresy, the familiar beloved odor of home.

I heard the scrape and clink of a dish on the doorstep and went to fetch a pie and a little mug of ale. I ate sitting on the floor behind the counter, hidden from the shuttered windows, my back against the warm folios, smelling the perfume of the cured-leather binding.

As soon as I had eaten, I put the bowl back on the doorstep and locked the door. Then I went into my father’s print shop and store room and cleared the volumes from the bottom shelf. I did not want to sleep in my own little trestle bed. I did not even want to sleep in my father’s bed. I wanted to be closer to him than that. I had a superstitious terror that if I went to bed I would be dragged from sleep by Bishop Bonner again, but if I was in hiding with my father’s beloved books then they would keep me safe.

I put myself to sleep on the bottom shelf of his books collection. I tucked a couple of folio volumes under my cheek for a pillow and gathered some French quarto volumes to hold me into the shelf. Like a lost text myself, I curled up in the shape of a G and closed my eyes and slept.

In the morning, when I woke, I was determined on my future. I found a piece of manuscript paper and wrote a letter to Daniel, a letter I thought I would never write.

Dear Daniel,

It is time for me to leave the court and England. Please come for me and the printing press at once. If this letter miscarries or I do not see you within a week, I shall come on my own.

Hannah

When I sealed it up I was certain, as I had known in my heart for the last few months, that there was no safety for anyone in Queen Mary’s England any more.

There was a tap at the door. My heart plunged with the familiar terror, but then I could see, through the shutters, the silhouette of our next-door neighbor.

I opened the door to him. “Slept well?” he demanded.

“Yes,” I said.

“Ate well? They are a good baker’s?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Better now?”

“Yes. I am well.”

“Are you going back to court today?”

For a moment I hesitated, then I realized that there was nowhere else for me to go. If I went missing from court it was tantamount to a confession of guilt. I had to go back and act the part of an innocent woman rightly freed, until Daniel should come for me and then I could get away.

“Yes, today,” I said brightly.

“Would you see this gets to the queen?” he asked, abashed but determined. He offered me a trade card, an illustrated label which assured the reader that he could supply all the books that were moral and improving and approved by the church. I took it, and thought wryly that at my last visit to the shop I had made a comment about the paucity of reading that the church permitted. Now I would not speak a word against it.

“I will put it in her hands,” I lied to him. “You can depend upon it.”

I came back to a subdued court. The maids in waiting that I slept with had thought that I had gone to my father’s shop. The queen had not missed me. Only Will Somers cocked an inquiring eyebrow at me when I came into dinner and made his way over to my bench. I shifted up, and he sat down beside me.

“Are you well, child? You’re white as a sheet.”

“I’ve just got back,” I said shortly. “I was arrested.”

Any other person in the court would have found an excuse to move elsewhere to take his dinner. Will planted both elbows on the table. “Never!” he said. “How come you got out again?”

A little unwilling giggle escaped me. “They said I was a fool, and could not be held responsible.”

His crack of laughter made all the neighboring tables turn their heads and smile. “You! Well that’s good news for me. I shall know what to plead. And that’s what they truly said?”

“Yes. But, Will, it is no laughing matter. There were two women in there, one half dead from the rack and the other with her fingernails torn out of her hands. The whole house was packed from cellar to attic with men waiting their trial.”

His face grew somber. “Hush, child, there is nothing you can do about it now. You did what you could, and speaking out is perhaps what led you there.”

“Will, I was most afraid,” I said quietly.

His warm big hand took my cold fingers in a gentle grasp. “Child, we are all of us afraid. Better times coming, eh?”

“When will they come?” I whispered.

He shook his head without saying anything; but I knew that he was thinking of Elizabeth and when her reign might begin. And if Will Somers was thinking of Elizabeth with hope, then the queen had lost the love of a man who had been a true friend indeed.

I counted the days, waiting for Daniel’s arrival. Before I had gone downriver to Greenwich, I had put the letter in the hand of a shipmaster who was sailing to Calais that morning. I recited to myself his progress. “Say: it takes a day to Calais, then say a day to find the house, then say Daniel understands, and leaves at once, he should be with me inside a week.”

I decided that if I heard nothing from him within seven days that I would go to the shop, pack the most precious books and manuscripts in as large a box as I could manage, and take a passage to Calais on my own.

In the meantime I had to wait. I attended Mass in the queen’s train, I read the Bible to her in Spanish in her room every day after dinner, I prayed with her at her bedtime. I watched her unhappiness turn to a solid-seated misery, a state that I thought she would live and die in. She was in despair, I had never seen a woman in such despair before. It was worse than death, it was a constant longing for death and a constant rejection of life. She lived like darkness in her own day. It was clear that nothing could be done to lift the shadow which was on her; and so I, and everyone else, said and did nothing.

One morning, as we were coming out of Mass, the queen leading the way, her ladies behind her, one of the queen’s newest maids in waiting fell into step beside me. I was watching the queen. She was walking slowly, her head drooped, her shoulders bowed as if grief were a weight that she had to carry.

“Have you heard? Have you heard?” the girl whispered to me as we turned into the queen’s presence chamber. The gallery was crowded with people who had come to see the queen, most of them to ask for clemency for people on trial for heresy.

“Heard what?” I said crossly. I pulled my sleeve from the grip of an old lady who was trying to waylay me. “Dame, I can do nothing for you.”

“It is not for me, it is my son,” she said. “My boy.”

Despite myself, I paused.

“I have money saved, he could go abroad if the queen would be so good as to send him into exile.”

“You are pleading for exile for your son?”

“Bishop Bonner has him.” She needed to say nothing more.

I pulled back from her as if she had the plague. “I am sorry,” I said. “I can do nothing.”

“If you would intercede for him? His name is Joseph Woods?”

“Dame, if I asked for mercy for him my own life would be forfeit,” I told her. “You are at risk in even speaking to me. Go home and pray for his soul.”

She looked at me as if I were a savage. “You tell a mother to pray for her son’s soul when he is innocent of anything?”

“Yes,” I said bleakly.

The maid in waiting drew me away impatiently. “The news!” she reminded me.

“Yes, what?” I turned from the uncomprehending pain on the old woman’s face, knowing that the best advice to her would be to take the money she had saved for her son’s release and buy instead a purse of gunpowder to hang around his neck so that he did not suffer for hours in the fire but blew up as soon as the flames were lit.

“The Princess Elizabeth is accused of treason!” the maid in waiting hissed at me, desperate to tell her news. “Her servants are all arrested. They’re tearing her London house apart, searching it.”

Despite the heat of the crowd, I felt myself freeze, right down to my toes in my boots. “Elizabeth? What treason?” I whispered.

“A plot to kill the queen,” the girl said in a breath of ice.

“Who else with her?”

“I don’t know! Nobody knows! Kat Ashley, for certain, perhaps all of them.”

I nodded, I knew somebody who would know. I extricated myself from the train that was following the queen into her presence chamber. She would be in there for at least two hours, listening to one claim after another, people asking her for favors, for mercy, for places, for money. At every plea she would look more weary, older by far than her forty years. But she would not miss me while I ran down the gallery to the great hall.

Will was not there, a soldier directed me to the stable yard and I found him in a loose box, playing with one of the deerhound puppies. The animal, all long legs and excitement, clambered all over him.

“Will, they’re searching the Princess Elizabeth’s London house.”

“Aye, I know,” he said, lifting his face away from the puppy, which was enthusiastically licking his neck.

“What are they looking for?”

“Doesn’t matter what they were looking for, what matters is what they found.”

“What did they find?”

“What you would expect,” he said unhelpfully.

“I expect nothing,” I snapped. “Just tell me. What did they find?”

“Letters and pamphlets and all sorts of seditious nonsense in Kat Ashley’s box. A May-day plot cooked up between her and the princess’s new Italian lute player and Dudley-” He broke off as he saw my aghast face. “Oh, not your lord. His cousin, Sir Henry.”

“Lord Robert is not under suspicion?” I demanded.

“Should he be?”

“No,” I lied instantly. “How could he do anything? And anyway, he is loyal to Queen Mary.”

“As are we all,” Will said smartly. “Even Tobias the hound, here. Well, Tobias is more loyal because he can’t say one thing and think another. He gives his love where he eats his dinner which is more than others I could mention.”

I flushed. “If you mean me, I love the queen and I always have done.”

His face softened. “I know you do. I meant her pretty little sister who has not the patience to wait her turn; but has been plotting again.”

“She’s guilty of nothing,” I said at once, my loyalty to Elizabeth as reliable as my love of the queen.

Will laughed shortly. “She’s an heir in waiting. She’d attract trouble like a tall tree attracts lightning. And so Kat Ashley and Signor the lute player are for the Tower, half a dozen of the Dudley household with them. There’s a warrant out for Sir William Pickering, her old ally. I didn’t even know he was in England. Did you?”

I said nothing, my throat tightening with fear. “No.”

“Better not to know.”

I nodded, then I felt my head nodding and nodding again, in trying to look normal I was looking ridiculous. I felt that my face was a folio of fear that anyone could read.

“What’s the matter, child?” Will’s tone was kindly. “You’re white as snow. Are you enmeshed in this, little one? Are you seeking a charge of treason to match your charge of heresy? Have you been a fool indeed?”

“No,” I said, my voice coming out harshly. “I would not plot against the queen. I have not been well this last week. I am sick. A touch of fever.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t spread,” Will said wryly.

I held to my lie of fever and took to my bed. I thought of Elizabeth who seemed to be able to summon ill health as an alibi when she needed one, and I knew the pangs of a terror which made me sweat so much that I would have passed for a sick girl indeed.

I heard the news from my roommates. Cardinal Pole headed the inquiry into the conspiracy and every day another man was arrested and taken for questioning. First Sir Henry Dudley, who had been betraying his own country to the French in return for their help. He had pockets full of French gold and the promise of a small army of mercenaries and French volunteers. From then they followed the trail to a traitor at the court of the Exchequer who had promised to steal money to pay for the army and the weapons. Under questioning he revealed that they were planning to send the queen to her husband in the Low Countries, and put Elizabeth on the throne. Then the cardinal discovered that Kat Ashley and William Pickering were old friends, and had met at the very heart of the court, Sir William had been smuggled into the country, into the Hampton Court itself.

Kat Ashley’s box in Elizabeth’s London house held the first draft of a pamphlet urging Englishmen to rise up against the Catholic queen and put the Protestant princess on the throne.

Cardinal Pole started to look around Elizabeth’s friends and acquaintances for who might have a press that would have printed such a pamphlet in secret. I thought of the sheeted press in the printer’s shop off Fleet Street and wondered how soon it would be before they came for me.

The cardinal, inspired by God, determined and intelligent, was following a trail which would take in many English Protestants, many friends and servants to Elizabeth, and would lead him inevitably to me, as to many others. Whenever one man was arrested and taken for questioning there was another man who might mention that the queen’s fool was always with the princess. That someone had told someone that the queen’s fool would run an errand or take a message, that she was known by sight to Sir William Pickering, that she was a trusted retainer of the Dudley family for all that she was said to serve the queen.

If Cardinal Pole took me to his quiet thickly curtained room and made me stand before his dark polished table and tell him of my history I knew he would pick it apart in a moment. Our flight from Spain, our arrival in England, my father’s disappearance leaving his press behind: everything pointed to our guilt as Marranos, Jews trying to pass as Christians, and we could be burned for heresy in Smithfield as well as we could have been burned in Aragon. If he went to my father’s shop he would find texts which were forbidden and heretical. Some of them were illegal because they questioned the word of God, even suggesting that the earth moved around the sun, or that animals now lived which had not been made by God in six days at the beginning of the world. Some of them were illegal because they challenged the translation of the Word of God, saying that the apple of knowledge was an apricot. And some of them were illegal simply because they could not be understood. They dealt in mysteries, and the cardinal’s church was one that insisted on control of all the mysteries of the world.

The books in the shop would see us hanged for heresy, the printing press see us hanged for treason, and if ever the cardinal made a connection between my father’s best customers, John Dee and Robert Dudley, and me, then I would be on the scaffold for treason with the noose around my neck in a moment.

I spent three days in bed, staring at the white ceiling, shivering with fear though the sunshine was bright on the lime-washed walls and bees bumbled against the glass of the window. Then in the evening of the third day, I got up from my bed. I knew the queen would be preparing to walk into the great hall and sit before a dinner that she could not bear to eat. I got myself to her rooms as she rose from her prie-dieu.

“Hannah, are you better now?” The words were kind but her eyes were dead, she was trapped in her own world of grief. One of her ladies bent and straightened the train behind her but she did not turn her head, it was as if she did not feel it.

“I am better, but I have been much distressed by a letter which came to me this day,” I said. The strain on my white face supported my story. “My father is ill, near to death, and I would like to go to him.”

“Is he in London?”

“In Calais, Your Grace. He has a shop in Calais, and lives with my betrothed and his family.”

She nodded. “You can go to him, of course. And come back when he is well again, Hannah. You can go to the Household Exchequer and get your wages to date, you will need money.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” I felt my throat tighten at the thought of her kindness to me when I was running from her. But then I remembered the cinders which were always warm at Smithfield and the woman with the bloody hands in St. Paul’s, and I kept my eyes down, and held my peace.

She reached out to me and I knelt and kissed her fingers. For the last time, her gentle touch came on my head. “God bless you, Hannah, and keep you safe,” she said warmly, not knowing that it was her own trusted cardinal and his inquiry which was making me tremble as I knelt before her.

The queen stepped back and I rose to my feet. “Come back to me soon,” she commanded.

“As soon as I can.”

“When will you set out?” she asked.

“At dawn tomorrow,” I said.

“Then God speed and safe return,” she said with all her old sweetness. She gave me a weary little smile as she went to the double doors and they threw them open for her, and then she went out, her head high, her face drained, her eyes dark with sadness, to face the court which no longer respected her though they would bow as she walked in and eat well and drink deep at her cost.

I did not wait for dawn. As soon as I heard the court settle to their dinner, I put on my dark green livery, my new riding boots, my cape and my cap. I took my little knapsack from my box and put in it the missal the queen had once given me, and the wages I had from the Exchequer, in their little purse. I owned nothing else, not even after three years of service at court – I had not lined my pockets as I could have done.

I crept down the side stairs and hesitated at the entrance to the great hall. I could hear the familiar sound of the household at dinner, the buzz of conversation and the occasional shout of laughter, the higher voices of the women seated at the far end of the hall, the scrape of knife on trencher, the clink of bottle on cup. They were the sounds of my life for the past three years, I could not believe that this was no longer my home, my haven. I could not believe that this was increasingly the most dangerous place for me to be.

I closed my eyes for a moment, longing for the gift of Sight, that I might know what I should do for my own safety. But it was not the Sight that decided me, it was my oldest fear. Someone had burned something in the kitchen and the scent of scorched meat suddenly blew into the hall with a running servant. For a moment I was not at the queen’s dinner hall, smelling roasted meat, I was in the town square of Aragon, and the scent of a burning woman was making the air stink as she screamed in horror at the sight of her own blackening legs.

I turned on my heel and dashed out of the door, careless of who saw me. I headed for the river, as my quickest and least noticeable route into the city. I went down to the landing stage and waited for a boat to come by.

I had forgotten the fears of Mary’s court, now that the Spanish were openly hated and Mary had lost the love of her people. There were four soldiers on the landing stage and another dozen of them on guard along the riverbank. I had to smile and pretend I was sneaking out for a secret meeting with a lover.

“But what’s your fancy?” one of the young soldiers jeered. “Dressed like a boy but a voice like a maid? How d’you choose, my pet? What sort of a thing d’you like?”

I was spared having to find an answer by a boat swinging across the current and bringing a group of London citizens to court.

“Are we too late? Is she still dining?” a fat woman at the front of the boat demanded as they helped her on to the landing stage.

“She’s still dining,” I said.

“Under the canopy of state and all?” she specified.

“As she should be,” I confirmed.

She smiled with satisfaction. “I’ve never seen it before, though I’ve often promised myself the pleasure of seeing her,” she said. “Do we just walk in?”

“There is the entrance to the great hall,” I directed her. “There are soldiers on the door but they will let you and your family pass. May I take your boat? I want to go to the city.”

She waved the boatman away. “But come back for us,” she said to him.

I stepped into the rocking boat and waited till we were out of earshot before directing him to the steps at The Fleet. I did not want the court guards to know where I was going.

Once again I came down the road to our shop at a reluctant dawdle. I wanted to see that the place was untouched before I approached it. Suddenly, I came to an abrupt standstill. To my horror, as I turned the corner I could see that it had been broken and entered. The door was thrown wide open, the dark entrance was lit with a flickering light as two men, three men moved about inside. Outside waited a great wagon with two horses. The men were taking away great barrels of goods, I recognized the packed manuscripts that we had stored away when my father left, and I knew they would be evidence enough to hang me twice over.

I shrank back into a dark doorway and pulled my cap down low over my face. If they had found the barrels of manuscripts then they would also have found the boxes of forbidden books. We would be named as purveyors of heresy. There would be a price on our heads. I had better turn and head back for the river and get myself on a ship to Calais as soon as I could, for my father and I were baked meats if we were found in London.

I was just about to slide backward into the alley when one of the shadows inside the shop came out with a big box and loaded it into the back of the wagon. I paused, waiting for him to go back into the shop and leave the street clear for me to make my escape when something about him made me pause. Something about the profile was familiar, the scholar’s bend of the shoulders, the thinness of his frame below his worn cape.

I felt my heart thud with hope and fear but I did not step out until I was sure. Then the two other men came out, carrying a well-wrapped piece of the printing press. The man in front was our next-door neighbor, and the man carrying the other end was my betrothed, Daniel. At once I realized that they were packing up the shop and we were not yet discovered.

“Father! My father!” I cried out softly, and sprang from the dark doorway into the shadowy street.

His head jerked up at the sound of my voice and his arms opened wide. I was in his embrace in a moment, feeling his warm strong arms wrapped around me, hugging me as if he would never let me go again.

“Hannah, my daughter, my girl,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “Hannah, my daughter, mi querida!”

I looked up into his face, worn and older than I remembered, and saw him too tracing my features. We both spoke at once:

“I got your letter, are you in danger?”

“Father, are you well? I am so glad…”

We laughed. “Tell me first,” he said. “Are you in danger? We have come for you.”

I shook my head. “Thank God,” I said. “They arrested me for heresy, but I was released.”

At my words, he glanced quickly around. I thought anyone in England would have known him for a Jew now, that furtive ever-guilty glance of the People with no home and no welcome among strangers.

Daniel crossed the cobbled street, strode over the drain and came to an abrupt halt before us.

“Hannah,” he said awkwardly.

I did not know what to reply. The last time we had met I had freed him from his betrothal to me with a burst of venom, and he had kissed me as if he wanted to bite me. Then he had written the most passionate letter imaginable and we were engaged to marry once more. I had summoned him to save me, by rights he should have something more from me than a downturned face and a mumbled: “Hello, Daniel.”

“Hello,” he said, equally inadequate.

“Let’s go into the shop,” my father said, casting another cautious glance up and down the street. He led me over the threshold and shut the door behind us. “We were packing up here and then Daniel was going to fetch you. Why are you here?”

“I was running away from court,” I said. “I didn’t dare wait for you to come. I was coming to you.”

“Why?” Daniel asked. “What has happened?”

“They are arresting men for plotting to overthrow the queen,” I said. “Cardinal Pole is making the inquiry and I am afraid of him. I thought he would discover where I had come from, or…” I broke off.

Daniel’s glance at me was acute. “Were you involved in the plot?” he asked abruptly.

“No,” I said. “Not really.”

At his hard skeptical look I flushed red.

“I was involved enough,” I admitted.

“Thank God we are here then,” he said. “Have you dined?”

“I’m not hungry,” I said. “I can help to pack.”

“Good, for we have a ship that leaves on the one o’clock tide.”

I slipped off the printer’s stool and set to work with Daniel, my father, and our next-door neighbor, carrying the boxes and barrels and pieces of the press to the wagon. The horses stood still and quiet. One woman threw up her window and asked us what we were doing and our neighbor went and told her that at last the shop was to be let and the old bookseller’s rubbish was being cleared away.

It was near ten o’clock at night by the time we had finished and a late spring moon, all warm and yellow, had risen and was lighting the street. My father swung himself into the back of the wagon, Daniel and I rode on the box. Our neighbor shook hands all round and bade us farewell. Daniel signaled for the horses to start and they leaned against the traces and the wagon eased forward.

“This is like last time,” Daniel remarked. “I hope you don’t jump ship again.”

I shook my head. “I won’t.”

“No outstanding promises?” he smiled.

“No,” I said sadly. “The queen does not need my company, she does not want anyone but the king and I think he will never come home to her. And though the Princess Elizabeth’s household is charged with treason, she has the favor of the king. She might be imprisoned but she won’t be killed now. She is determined to survive and wait.”

“She does not fear that the queen might pass her over and give the crown to another – Margaret Douglas or Mary Stuart, perhaps?”

“She had her future foretold,” I said to him in a tiny whisper. “And she was assured that she will be the heir. She does not know how long she will have to wait but she is confident.”

“And who foretold her future?” he asked acutely.

At my guilty silence he nodded. “I should think you do indeed need to come with me this time,” he said levelly.

“I was accused of heresy,” I said. “But released. I have done nothing wrong.”

“You have done enough to be hanged for treason, strangled for a witch, and burned as a heretic three times over,” he said without a glimmer of a smile. “By rights you should be on your knees to me, begging me to take you away.”

I was half a moment from outraged exclamation when I saw that he was teasing me and I broke into an unwilling laugh. At once he gleamed and took my hand and brought it to his lips. The touch of his mouth on my fingers was warm, I could feel his breath on my skin, and for a moment I could see nothing and hear nothing and think of nothing but his touch.

“You need not beg,” he said softly. “I would have come for you anyway. I cannot go on living without you.”

Our road took us past the Tower. I felt, rather than saw, Daniel stiffen as the lowering shadow of Robert Dudley’s prison fell on us.

“You know, I could not help loving him,” I said in a small voice. “When I first saw him I was a child, and he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my life and the son of the greatest man in England.”

“Well, now you are a woman and he is a traitor,” Daniel said flatly. “And you are mine.”

I shot a sideways smile at him. “As you say, husband,” I said meekly. “Whatever you say.”

The ship was waiting as Daniel had arranged and we had a few hours of hard work loading the pieces of the dismantled press and the barrels and boxes of books and papers before finally we were all aboard and the sailors cast off, the barges took us in tow, and the ship went slowly downriver, helped by the ebbing tide. My father had brought a hamper of food and we sat on the deck, sometimes shrinking from a passing sailor running to obey an order, and ate cold chicken and a strange strong-tasting cheese and a hard crunchy bread.

“You’ll have to get used to this fare,” Daniel laughed at me. “This is Calais food.”

“Shall we stay in Calais?” I asked.

He shook his head. “It’s not safe for us forever,” he said. “Soon Queen Mary will turn her attention there too. The place is riddled with runaway Protestants and Lutherans and Erastians and all sorts of heretics, anxious to have a quick exit to France, or Flanders or Germany. Plotters too. And the kingdom of France has its own battle with the Huguenots or anyone who is not an orthodox son of the church. Between the two powers I think that people like us will be squeezed out.”

I felt the familiar sense of injustice. “Squeezed out to where now?” I asked.

Daniel smiled at me and put his hand over my own. “Peace, sweetheart,” he said. “I have found a home for us. We are going to go to Genoa.”

“Genoa?”

“They are making a community of Jews there,” he said, his voice very low. “They are allowing the People to settle there. They want the trade contacts and the gold and trustworthy credit that the People bring with them. We’ll go there. A doctor can always find work, and a bookseller can always sell books to the Jews.”

“And your mother and sisters?” I asked. I was hoping he would tell me that they would stay in Calais, that they had found husbands and homes in the town and we could visit them once every two years.

“Mary and my mother will come with us,” he said. “The other two have good posts and want to stay in Calais, whatever the risks to them. Sarah is courting with a Gentile and may marry him.”

“Don’t you mind?”

Daniel shook his head. “When I was in Venice and Padua I learned much more than the new sciences,” he said. “I changed my mind about our people. I think now that we are the yeast of Christendom. It is our task to go among the Christians and bring them our learning and our skills, our ability with trade and our honor. Perhaps someday we shall have a country of our own once more, Israel. Then we shall have to rule it kindly, we know what it is to be ruled with cruelty. But we were not born to be hidden and to be ashamed. We were born to be ourselves, and to be proud of being the chosen to lead. If my sister marries a Christian then she will bring her learning and her wisdom to her family and they will be the better Christians for it, even if they never know that she is a Jew.”

“And shall we live as Jews or Gentiles?” I asked.

His smile at me was infinitely warm. “We shall live as suits us,” he said. “I won’t have the Christian rules that forbid my learning, I won’t have Jewish rules that forbid my life. I shall read books that ask if the sun goes around the earth or the earth around the sun, and I shall eat pork when it is well reared and properly killed and well cooked. I shall accept no prohibitions on my thoughts or my actions except those that make sense to me.”

“And shall I?” I asked, wondering where this independence would take us.

“Yes,” he said simply. “Your letters and everything you have ever said makes sense to me only if I see you as my partner in this venture. Yes. You shall find your own way and I hope we will agree. We shall find a new way to live and it will be one that honors our parents and their beliefs, but which gives us a chance to be ourselves, and not just their children.”

My father, seated a little away from us and carefully not listening to our conversation, enacted an unconvincing yawn. “I’m for sleep,” he said. He put his hand on my head. “Bless you, child, it is good to have you with me once more.” He wrapped his cape around himself and laid down on the cold deck.

Daniel stretched out his arm to me. “Come here and I will keep you warm,” he said.

I was not in the least cold but I did not tell him that as I went into the circle of his arm and let myself stretch out against the mystery of his male body. I felt him gently kissing my cropped hair and then I felt and heard his breath against my ear.

“Oh, Hannah,” he whispered. “I have dreamed of having you for so long I could cry like a girl for desire.”

I giggled. “Daniel,” I said, trying the unfamiliar name on my lips. I turned my face up toward him and felt the warmth of his mouth on mine, a kiss which melted the very marrow of my bones so that I felt we were dissolving into one another like some alchemical mixture, an elixir of pleasure. Under his cape his hands caressed my back and then fumbled under my jerkin and linen and stroked my breasts, my throat, my belly, and I felt myself stretch out like a petted cat and whisper “Daniel” once more and this time it was an invitation. Gently, his hands explored the contours of my body like a stranger in a new land. Shyly, but with gathering curiosity I let my fingers explore the soft fine hair of his chest, the warmth of his skin beneath his breeches, and then the extraordinary shape of his cock which rose and pulsed at my touch as Daniel groaned with desire.

The night was too long and the skies too dark for shamefulness. Under Daniel’s cloak we slid our breeches down and coupled with an easy confident delight that started breathless and became ecstasy. I had not known that it could feel like that. Watching other women and men court, even trembling beneath Lord Robert’s touch, I had not known that such pleasure was possible. We parted only to doze and within an hour we woke and moved together again. Only when we saw the sky lighten through the ropes to our left did I drift from arching desire and satisfaction into exhausted sleep.

I woke to a cold morning, and had to scramble into my clothes before the sailors could see what we had been about. At first I could see nothing but the dark outline of the land, and then slowly it became clearer to me. A stolid strong fort guarded the entrance to the harbor. “Fort Risban,” Daniel said, standing behind me so that I could lean back against his warm chest. “Do you see the port beyond?”

I raised myself up a little and giggled like a girl as I felt his body respond to my movement. “Where?” I asked, innocently enough.

He shifted me away from him with a little grunt of discomfort. “You are a coquette,” he said bluntly. “There. Ahead of you. That is the main port and the canals flow from it all around the city, so it is a moated city as well as a walled one.”

As the ship came into port I stayed at the side, watching the features of this town with the sense – familiar to so many of my people – that I would have to start my life over again, and make my home here all over again. These red-tiled rooftops just showing over the strong thickness of the city walls would become familiar to me, the cobbled streets between the high houses would be my routes to and from the baker, from the market, to my house. This strange aroma, the smell of a working port: old fish, the tarry odor of drying nets, the fresh hint of newly sawn wood, the clean tang of salt wind, all this would become the familiar taste on my lips and the perfume of my woolen cape. Soon all this would mean home to me, and in a little while I would cease to wonder how the queen was this morning, whether better or worse, how Elizabeth was faring, waiting patiently as she must surely do, and how my lord was, watching the sun rise from the arrow-slit window of his prison. All of those thoughts and loves and loyalties I must put behind me and greet my new life. I had left the court, I had deserted the queen, I had abandoned Elizabeth and I had taken my leave of the man I adored: my lord. Now I would live for my husband and my father and I would learn to belong to this new family: a husband, three sisters and my mother-in-law.

“My mother is waiting for us.” Daniel’s breath was warm against my hair as he leaned against me at the rail of the ship. I leaned back again and felt his cock stir inside his breeches at my touch and I pressed back, wanton and desiring him once more. I looked to where he was looking and saw her, formidable, arms folded across a broad chest, scrutinizing the deck of the ship as if to see whether her reluctant daughter-in-law had done her duty and arrived this time.

When she saw Daniel she raised a hand in greeting, and I waved back. I was too far away to see her face, but I imagined her carefully schooling her expression.

“Welcome to Calais,” she said to me as we came down the gangplank. Daniel she wordlessly enfolded into an adoring embrace.

He struggled to be free. “I have to see to them unloading the press,” he told her, and went back on board and swung down into the hold. Mrs. Carpenter and I were left alone on the quayside, an island of awkward silence among the men and women bustling around us.

“He found you then,” she said, with no great pleasure.

“Yes,” I said.

“And are you ready to marry him now?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll have to get out of those clothes,” she said. “They’re respectable people in Calais, they won’t like the sight of you in breeches.”

“I know,” I said. “I left in a hurry or I would have changed before I came.”

“That would have been better.”

We were silent again.

“Did you bring your wages?”

“Yes.” I was nettled by her tone. “All of my wages for the last two quarters.”

“It will cost you all of that to buy stockings and gowns and shifts and caps, you will be surprised at the price.”

“It can’t be more expensive than London.”

“Much more,” she said flatly. “So much has to be shipped in from England.”

“Why do we not buy French?” I asked.

She made a little face. “Hardly,” she said, but did not trouble to explain.

Daniel appeared and looked pleased that we were talking. “I think I have everything unloaded,” he said. “Your father is going to stay here with the things while I fetch a wagon.”

“I’ll wait with him,” I said hastily.

“No,” he said. “Go home with Mother, she can show you our house and you can get warm.”

He wanted to ensure that I was comfortable. He did not know that the last thing I wanted to do was to go home with his mother and sit with his sisters and wait for the men to finish their work and come home. “I’ll get the wagon with you then,” I said. “I’m not cold.”

At a glance from his mother he hesitated. “You can’t go to the carter’s yard dressed like that,” she said firmly. “You will shame us all. Wrap your cloak around you and come home with me.”

Home was a pretty enough little house in London Street squashed in beside others in a row near the south gate of the town. The top floor was divided into three bedrooms; Daniel’s three sisters shared the big bed in the room which faced the back of the house, his mother had a tiny room all to herself, and my father had the third. Daniel mostly lived with his tutor, but would sleep on a truckle bed in my father’s room when he stayed overnight. The next floor served as a dining room and sitting room for the family, and the ground floor was my father’s shop facing the street, and at the back a little kitchen and scullery. In the yard behind, Daniel and my father had built and thatched a roof, and the printing press would be reassembled and set up in there.

All three of Daniel’s sisters were waiting to greet us in the living room at the top of the stairs. I was acutely conscious of my travel-stained clothes and dirty face and hands, as I saw them look me up and down and then glance in silence at each other.

“Here are my girls,” their mother said. “Mary, Sarah and Anne.”

The three of them rose like a row of moppets and dipped a curtsey as one, and sat down again. In my pageboy livery I could not curtsey, I made a little bow to them and saw their eyes widen.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Mrs. Carpenter said.

“I’ll help,” Anne said and dived out of the room. The other two and I regarded each other with silent dislike.

“Did you have a good crossing?” Mary asked.

“Yes, thank you.” The tranced night on the deck and Daniel’s insistent touch seemed to be a long way away now.

“And are you going to marry Daniel now?”

“Mary! Really!” her sister protested.

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t ask. It’s been a long enough betrothal. And if she is to be our sister-in-law we have a right to know.”

“It’s between her and Daniel.”

“It’s a matter for all of us.”

“Yes, I am,” I said, to bring their wrangling to an end.

They turned their bright inquisitive faces toward me. “Indeed,” said Mary. “You’ve left court then?”

“Yes.”

“And will you not go back?” the other one, Sarah, asked.

“No,” I said, keeping the regret from my voice.

“Won’t you find it awfully dull here, after living at court? Daniel said that you were the queen’s companion and spent all the day with her.”

“I shall help my father in the shop, I expect,” I said.

They both looked aghast as if the thought of working with books and the printing press was more daunting than marrying Daniel and living with them.

“Where are you and Daniel going to sleep?” Mary asked.

“Mary! Really!”

“Well, they can hardly bed down on the truckle bed,” she pointed out reasonably. “And Mother can’t be asked to move. And we have always had the best back bedroom.”

“Daniel and I will decide,” I said with an edge to my voice. “And if there is not enough room for us here we will set up our own house.”

Mary gave a little scream of shock as her mother came up the stairs.

“What is it, child?” she demanded.

“Hannah has not been in the house five minutes and already she says she and Daniel will live elsewhere!” Mary exclaimed, halfway to tears. “Already she is taking Daniel away from us! Just as I knew she would! Just as I said – she will spoil everything!” She leaped to her feet, tore open the door and ran up the stairs leading to her room, leaving the wooden door to bang behind her. We heard the creak of the rope bed as she flung herself on to it.

“Oh, really!” her mother exclaimed in indignation. “This is ridiculous!”

I was about to agree, and then I saw that she was looking accusingly at me.

“How could you upset Mary on your very first day?” she demanded. “Everyone knows that she is easily upset, and she loves her brother. You will have to learn to mind your tongue, Miss Hannah. You are living with a family now. You have not the right to speak out like a fool any more.”

For one stunned moment I said nothing to defend myself. Then: “I am sorry,” I said through my teeth.