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their heads close together. Betty, who had been pouring drinks, set the pitcher down with a thump. She and Viviani stared at me, while my father craned his neck, seeking the source of the racket.
    “Elizabeth, what’s the meaning of this interruption?” Betty demanded. Before I could respond, she turned to Viviani, saying, “I hope you’ll forgive my stepdaughter’s behavior. She isn’t accustomed to visitors—”
    “The king’s men are on their way here,” I interrupted. Viviani glanced at the knives strapped with leather bindings to my arms, and he half rose, his hand drifting to his waist, where his sword hung. “Francis Sutton said they stopped at his home, seeking directions,” I added.
    The color drained from my father’s face. “Did they say why they were coming?”
    “No.” I dashed to the window. Beyond the glass, the fields looked ordinary: golden-toned sheaves of wheat, white flutters from the farmers’ shirts as they moved among them. No sign of the king’s men, but it couldn’t be long now. What should I do? With shaking hands, I drew the curtains closed, the rattling of the rings on the rods loud in the quiet room.
    “Father, we must get you away from here.” I tugged on his hands, trying to get him to his feet. He staggered up, his handsgripping mine for guidance.
    “Elizabeth,” he said urgently, “you must promise to protect my poem. Keep it safe, or its secret will be lost forever—”
    The distant thunder of horses’ hooves interrupted him. Viviani and I shared a grim look.
    “Let me help,” he said. “I can carry your father to the woods.”
    “No!” Father shouted. “My future is of little consequence. It’s the two of you who must survive at all costs. Signor Viviani, run to the woods and remain there until one of my daughters fetches you. Trust no one else.”
    A muscle clenched in Viviani’s jaw. “I can’t leave you in danger—”
    “Remain and you have assured yourself of a painful death and no means for me and your master to carry out our mission,” Father growled. “Get out.”
    Viviani sent me an agonized look. I nodded, sliding my knives from their straps and handing him one. “This will serve you better in the close quarters the woods afford,” I said. “But let’s pray you don’t need it. Make for the copse of elms we passed on our way here. As soon as I can, I’ll come to you.”
    “I won’t leave a group of females and an elderly man alone,” he whispered to me. “I promised my master I would help—”
    “We have to follow my father’s directions,” I interrupted. “Please,” I added when Viviani remained motionless.
    The word had a galvanizing effect; Viviani’s head snapped up, his eyes focusing on mine. He nodded once, hard, then rushed from the room. I whirled on my father, who was already issuing more instructions.
    “Betty, hide Signor Viviani’s belongings,” he was saying.“The king’s men mustn’t suspect he’s been here. We’ll lie—all of us. We’ll say he may have stopped in the village, but he never came here. We haven’t seen him. Is that understood?” His expression was so fierce I didn’t dare argue. I murmured my assent.
    As my stepmother hurried from the room, my sisters dashed in, pale faced and crying. The thud of horses’ hooves pounding on a dirt road was coming closer. From outside, a man shouted something unintelligible. We were almost out of time.
    “Father, they can’t take you from us!” Deborah cried.
    An emotion I couldn’t identify rippled across my father’s face; it might have been regret.
    “I have been preparing for this day for several years,” he said. “There’s no shame in death, daughter, only shame in fearing God’s final judgment. I can meet mine with a clear conscience. Elizabeth, what are you wearing?” he asked abruptly.
    I looked down at my clothes. “A brown dress, Father, but I don’t—”
    “Then you can masquerade as a servant,” he interrupted. “A village