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apples, and fruit tarts. I washed down the food with lots of ale. In the center of the huge hall, a long table rested before a massive stone fireplace. At the far end, food was being passed to the servants through slats barely wide enough for the purpose. I heard my uncle speaking to me, and I shifted my attention to our table.
    “And you, lass? What occupies your time?”
    “Ahem. Uh, needlework, Uncle. And assisting my mother when she requires my help.” That could cover just about anything, couldn’t it?
    He gave me a sly look. “Any proposals of marriage yet?”
    Was he joking? “I am but seventeen, sir.”
    “I daresay many young ladies of your years are wed.”
    “I shall wed when the queen takes a husband,” I said. Where did that come from?
    The whole table roared with laughter. “Cheeky, is she not?” Stephen asked. My face burned, and I knew I would never have said such a thing if I hadn’t been gulping ale.
    “Have a care, Olivia,” Alexander said. “The queen nearly married the Duke of Anjou a few years past.” More laughter. Ha ha. Very funny . Embarrassed, I glanced down at my plate and shoved a piece of marchpane into my mouth.
    Then a new voice entered the conversation, and I jerked to attention. It was Will Shakespeare.
    “Our queen has never lacked suitors, if we’re to believe all the gossip.”
    “ ‘He speaks! O, speak again, bright—’ ” Did I say that out loud? Since Stephen’s sharp elbow had jabbed me in the ribs, I assumed I had. I leaned forward so I could peer around him to get the optimal view of Shakespeare.
    “But it seems she has always been more enamored of riches and power than of any man,” he went on.
    “Perhaps she’s waiting for Venus to reward her with the fairest man in the kingdom,” Stephen said. All eyes now turned toward him, so I pressed into the back of my chair, hoping I hadn’t been caught staring.
    “Yet if she delays too long, her charms may wither on the bough,” Will said.
    “If they haven’t already,” Stephen responded. He and Will guffawed, along with a few others. I wondered if in this year, 1581, the queen was old enough to be wearing that hideous white makeup. In the movies about her, it seemed like the older she got, the thicker she smeared it on.
    Their comments had earned them a stern look from Elizabeth. Apparently she didn’t approve of jokes at the queen’s expense. Stephen and Will apologized, but I noticed a few people hiding smiles behind their napkins. The talk turned to politics. I finished off another tankard, which was quickly refilled, while the conversation droned on. Spain was at war with Portugal, whose king had died recently. Shakespeare asked what the queen might do. “Stay out of it, I hope,” Stephen said.
    Alexander plunked down his tankard. “It seems Her Majesty would make war with all of Catholic Europe.”
    “At the peril of her soul,” Thomas Cook answered. That was a conversation stopper. Thomas’s eyes glinted an unusually intense blue, and his gaze was deep and penetrating. I’d felt it myself a couple of times during the meal. Even though my brain was a little fuzzy because of the ale, it occurred to me that he might be the Jesuit.
    I sneaked a glance around the table. Keeping her eyes cast down, Jennet seemed to be the only one uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. Her dress was plain, a simple white bodice and black skirts. Maybe she was a Puritan, I thought.
    We washed our hands, and without waiting to see what everyone else did, I stood. Stephen pulled me back down. I was feeling more than a little woozy, and I giggled when I saw what was happening. All around the table, people were picking their teeth. The ladies discreetly, with their free hands covering their mouths. Most of the men, however, picked away with abandon, including Stephen.
    Ick .
    “We’ll have to see that you get your own knife and picks,” he said when he could spare a moment.
    “How exciting.” I