The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(97)
“My loving people: we have been persuaded by some that are careful of our safety to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed multitudes, for fear of treachery; but I assure you I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear.”
A rousing cheer from the men, as though King Philip and his Papist soldiers could hear the force of their opposition.
“I have always so behaved myself that, under God, I have placed my chief strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and goodwill of my subjects; and therefore I am come amongst you, as you see, at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live and die amongst you all; to lay down for my God, and for my kingdom, and my people, my honour and my blood, even in the dust.”
She meant every word, even as logic dictated her advisors would employ everything short of force to keep her away from the field. Logic also dictated that they were right—England was more than just land. England—at this hour, at this danger—lived in Elizabeth.
“I know I have the body of a weak, feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a King of England, too, and think foul scorn that Parma or any prince of Europe should dare to invade the borders of my realm; to which rather than any dishonour shall grow by me, I myself will take up arms, I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. I know already, for your forwardness you have deserved rewards and crowns; and we do assure you on a word of a prince, they shall be duly paid.”
She could see in their faces that they believed her. More…she could see that they trusted her. She might be in body only a woman of advancing age, dressed for show in a cuirass that would not withstand a single sword blow, but she saw in the reflection of their gazes much more than that. She was Judith and Esther, she was Diana and Minerva, she was Gloriana.
She was Queen Elizabeth.
“In the meantime, my lieutenant general shall be in my stead, than whom never prince commanded a more noble or worthy subject; not doubting but by your obedience to my general, by your concord in the camp, and your valour in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over these enemies of my God, of my kingdom, and of my people.”
When the cheers and adulation had died down, Elizabeth retreated gracefully to the fort, where she changed into a riding dress more appropriate for long distances. From here she would leave the water and go south on horseback.
Dominic tried to talk her out of it. “You should not be heading any nearer to the coasts,” he argued. “You should be with your government, ready to retreat if needed for safety’s sake.”
“If I retreat, I give my armies leave to do the same,” she retorted. “I wish to go to Canterbury to make a spiritual appeal. That should go over well. And it will give you an excuse to force Minuette out of Dover Castle. Make her come to Canterbury, and I will ensure I bring her back inland with me.”
It wasn’t fair to shamelessly manipulate him—but Dominic always made it so easy. At least he had learned over the years to recognize it. “All of which is but to say that you will do as you choose.”
“But of course,” she agreed smoothly. “That can hardly be a surprise to you after more than fifty years.”
He threw up his hand. “Fine. We will go to Canterbury.”
“Not you. You are my lieutenant general and you are needed here, or wherever else the Spanish make their stand. I shall do very well with my guards. I will break my journey at Leeds Castle, and then on to Canterbury. As I have already written to Minuette asking her to meet me there the day after tomorrow, I have no time to waste arguing with you unless you wish your wife to be without my protection for long.”
“Elizabeth,” he said with all seriousness, “do not get yourself injured. I can control the army, but only you can control the people. Don’t forget it.”
“I never do—not for a single moment.” Which is why I am so very weary.
She followed Dominic’s order for a day and a half. And then, fifteen miles outside Canterbury—after all Elizabeth’s years of surviving close calls—Francis Walsingham’s worst fears were realized.
A Catholic assassin got lucky.
—
When Anabel emerged from her private conference with James, she looked subtly different. Kit’s observational skills might have become dulled in the days since Pippa’s death—as though he could not get used to seeing the world through only his own eyes—but he knew every aspect of Anabel’s face and moods. The politeness was surface only. From the curve of her cheek to the elegance of her throat—even the set of her wrists and arms—her human warmth had been extinguished and replaced by the frozen lines of a statue.
Kit shot a suspicious glance at James Stuart, who had escorted her out. The king waited until Anabel was on horseback, then took her offered hand and kissed her fingers. “Until tomorrow,” he said.
Then he turned on Kit a look of almost unbearable smugness. I win, that look said. Did James think Kit didn’t know every detail of the marriage treaty signed more than three years ago? James might have the diplomatic edge, but he would never have Anabel’s heart.
Anabel did not speak a word until they had returned to Norham Castle. Then, abruptly dismissing those wanting her attention, she took Kit into the first empty chamber she came to. When she had shut the door on the two of them, she leaned against it with her hands behind her back as though supporting her.