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because her walk was sensuous. In front of the rows of men and women, without a second’s hesitation, she caught the cadence of the low drumming and leaped high in the air. They followed her every move. Hannah watched.
    The bench grew hard beneath her and she became thirsty as the troupe leaped and twisted, sleek bodies with the sheen of sweat, the imperious instructress calling the movements. And then other drills: walking, curtseying, dancing together—still naked, men and women in embrace—and only occasionally a brief sitting or lying on the floor where they were. And none, not one, ever seemed to Hannah aware of being naked, though she caught fleeting smiles as they glanced at someone.
    Hannah could not stop watching one girl, no older than she, following instructions to perfection. The girl had dainty, pert little breasts that scarcely jounced, though her chest rose and fell with her breathing. The fair hair of her triangle became darker, damp with sweat. On her pale, pretty face, framed in red hair, was only concentration, determination.
    A bell chimed three times, the instructress stopped, gave one sharp clap, and turned from the class. All of them, talking now, laughing, ran for the door to the dressing room and crowded through it, making no attempt not to brush against each other. Was she supposed to follow? Dress now? It would be impossible, naked with two dozen naked strangers. She began to rise. She had to do something .
    “Sit.”
    The instructress was before her. “You know nothing of why you are here.” Hannah nodded and started to speak, but the instructress ordered, “Be quiet. I will tell you. Do not interrupt. Nothing you can say will change anything.”
    Hannah deliberately placed her palms on her thighs and raised her face to the woman. “This is the duke’s troupe of dancers and actresses. We dance and perform for the duke and his court, his friends, his visitors. We perform for men and women—anyone that the duke wishes. We are the best performers in the realm, but no one knows we exist, and never will.” The statements came forth like tenets of a religion. “You are surprised we all are naked. Be quiet!” she warned.
    “We perform naked for the duke. It is his pleasure to see the bodies of beautiful boys and girls in dance, theater, portraying love and lust.”
    “But,” Hannah managed to stammer, “the duke is…is brother to the queen! The queen is mother of England, and loves us…” Where had she heard that?
    “The queen knows nothing. Be quiet, I said! You will dance, you will act. You will be proud of your skill, your body, your beauty. You will work too hard, much too hard, not to be proud of what you can do. And you will do it naked, anything required by the art. But first will come many months of…” she gestured back at the empty room. “This, and much more. Your voice, every gesture, your ability to convey the most powerful emotions with your face alone—to convey by one turn, one gesture, what you feel. You will live for nothing else. You will live here, in this beautiful compound, and be well fed, beautifully dressed, and educated.”
    Hannah frowned at the last word; she longed for more education. “Of course,” said the woman, seeing Hannah’s expression. “You cannot dance and act—and talk with the duke, when he wishes you—if you know nothing of history and life. Do you like to read?”
    Hannah managed a whisper: “Yes, yes very much.”
    “Good.” Again, it was a little softer, approval.
    Hannah formed her lips into words that must be said “But I want to leave. I want to go home. I want to see my mother, my brothers and sisters.”
    “You never will.”
    “But the queen, our royal family, are the protectors of England and all its people.”
    Now, Maria’s face came as close to a smile as Hannah had seen—a slight saddening of the eyes and a quick curving of the lips that rued how amusingly naïve were Hannah’s words. “And it is sin!” said