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‘She is the best-educated woman I have ever met,’ he said. ‘She can converse in Latin as easily as in English, and she also speaks French, Spanish and Italian, and writes Greek. She is not thought to be a great beauty, but she has a way of enchanting a man so that he thinks her lovely. She has inherited the strength of will of her father, King Henry. She will make a decisive sovereign.’
    Cecil was obviously in love with her, Rollo thought; but that was not the worst of it. Elizabeth’s opponents had to rely on legalistic arguments because there was little else for them to take hold of. It seemed that Elizabeth was old enough, wise enough, and strong-minded enough to rule England. She might be a Protestant, but she was too clever to flaunt it, and they had no proof.
    The prospect of a Protestant queen horrified Rollo. She would surely disfavour Catholic families. The Fitzgeralds might never recover their fortunes.
    Swithin said: ‘Now, if she were to marry a strong Catholic husband who could keep her under control, she might be more acceptable.’ He chuckled lasciviously, making Rollo suppress a shudder. Clearly Swithin was aroused by the thought of keeping a princess under control.
    ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ said Cecil drily. A bell rang to tell the guests to take their places at table, and he stood up. ‘All I ask is that you don’t rush to judgement. Give Princess Elizabeth a chance.’
    Reginald and Rollo hung back when the others left the room. Reginald said: ‘I think we set him straight.’
    Rollo shook his head. There were times when he wished his father’s mind were more devious. ‘Cecil knew, before he came here, that loyal Catholics such as you and Swithin would never pledge support for Elizabeth.’
    ‘I suppose he did,’ said Reginald. ‘He’s nothing if not well informed.’
    ‘And he’s evidently a clever man.’
    ‘Then why is he here?’
    ‘I’ve been wondering about that,’ said Rollo. ‘I think he came to assess the strength of his enemies.’
    ‘Oh,’ said his father. ‘I never thought of that.’
    ‘Let’s go in to dinner,’ said Rollo.
    *
    N ED WAS RESTLESS all through the banquet. He could hardly wait for the eating and drinking to end so that the game of Hunt the Hart could begin. But just as the sweets were being cleared away, his mother caught his eye and beckoned him.
    He had noticed that she was deep in conversation with Sir William Cecil. Alice Willard was a vigorous, tubby woman, wearing a costly dress of Kingsbridge Scarlet embroidered with gold thread, and a medallion of the Virgin Mary around her neck to ward off accusations of Protestantism. Ned was tempted to pretend that he had not seen her summons. The game would take place while the tables were being cleared and the actors were getting ready to perform the play. Ned was not sure what Margery had in mind but, whatever it was, he was not going to miss it. However, his mother was strict as well as loving, and she would not tolerate disobedience, so he went to her side.
    ‘Sir William wants to ask you a few questions,’ Alice said.
    ‘I’m honoured,’ Ned said politely.
    ‘I want to know about Calais,’ Cecil began. ‘I gather you’ve just returned from there.’
    ‘I left a week before Christmas, and got here yesterday.’
    ‘I need hardly tell you and your mother how vital the city is to English commerce. It’s also a matter of national pride that we still rule a small part of France.’
    Ned nodded. ‘And deeply annoying to the French, of course.’
    ‘How is the morale of the English community there?’
    ‘Fine,’ said Ned, but he began to worry. Cecil was not interrogating him out of idle curiosity: there was a reason. And, now that he thought about it, his mother’s face looked grim. But he carried on. ‘When I left, they were still rejoicing over the defeat of the French at St Quentin back in August. That made them feel that the war between England and France was not going to