He was charming as he knew so well how to be. “It is wonderful to be home,” he said, “away from the garish Court.”

“You speak as though you do not like it there.”

“How can I when it keeps me from you … and home?”

She could not keep her hands from caressing him. She pouted and said that she had heard rumors.

“Rumors of what?”

“It is said that the Queen greatly favors you.”

“The Queen is just. She remembers those who were her friends in adversity.”

“Yes. But they say you are a special favorite.”

“It is just talk.”

Later he rode with her through the estates; he must see the new lambs and watch the sowing of the oats and beans; he feigned delight in these things and congratulated himself that he had escaped from them forever.

He could not keep the knowledge from her that this was a flying visit.

“No … no, no!” she protested.

He thought her a pampered girl. It was due to her being her father’s heiress and living with grown-up half-brothers and half-sisters—the pet of them all. He must have been mad to marry her.

“Alas, my love, I am on a mission for the Queen. I must go back and prepare myself for the ordeal of the Coronation.”

“Why cannot I go, Robert?”

“It is impossible.”

“But other lords have their wives at Court.”

“Only if they have posts in the Queen’s household.”

“Could I not be a lady-in-waiting?”

“That will come, Amy. But give me time. The Queen has scarce been on the throne a month, and even if she does favor me now as you have heard, I cannot ask too much of her.”

“Would it be asking too much of her to give your wife a place at Court?”

He could smile ironically at that. “I am sure it would, Amy.”

“But, Robert, something will have to be done. I cannot stay here for months and months while you are away from me.”

“I will come to see you, Amy, whenever it is possible. You may depend on that. My duties as Master of the Queen’s Horse keep me occupied. I think I may earn the Queen’s displeasure for absenting myself so long.”

“I am afraid of the Queen, Robert.”

“You are wise to be so. She would be angry if she knew you were detaining me here.”

“And mayhap send you to the Tower! Oh, Robert, shall I ever be able to come to Court?”

He soothed her with gentle words and caresses and plans for the future. Yet how glad he was when he could ride away from Norfolk to London and the Queen!

The day before her Coronation Elizabeth rode through the City that she might receive the loving greetings of her people.

She had gone by water from Westminster Palace to the Tower several days before that Saturday fixed for the ceremonial parade; and she left the Tower on the Saturday in her chariot—a beautiful and regal figure in her crimson velvet. She was not quite twenty-six years of age, yet she looked younger than she had when she had made the journey along the Thames for the Tower on that mournful Palm Sunday four years before.

There were, for her delight, pageants and ceremonies similar to those which had been prepared for her sister Mary, yet how different was the feeling of the crowd! London had welcomed Mary, but Mary was coldly formal. Not so Elizabeth. She was certainly a dazzling sight in velvet and jewels, but she belonged to the people as Mary never could. All during that day she was anxious to show them that she thought of them as they thought of her, that her one wish was to please them as they wished to honor her.

“God save Your Grace!” they cried.

And she replied: “May God save you all!”

Even the poor brought flowers to her. Those about her would have held them back, but Elizabeth would not allow this to be done. She must smile on all; she must speak to them, however humble they were; and the flowers of her poorer subjects were those which she insisted on keeping in her chariot.

She knew that she had the people with her. She, though so young, was wise; and her greatest delight was in the outward signs of her people’s love.

She smiled as she passed the Spread Eagle in Gracechurch Street, for across that street was an arch on which was depicted a pageant concerning the Queen’s ancestors: Her grandparents, Elizabeth of York and Henry the Seventh; her father, Henry the Eighth; and there was a picture of a beautiful and spritely lady to whom no reference had been made for many years: the Queen’s mother, Anne Boleyn. Nothing could have pleased Elizabeth more.

Then there were pageants in Cornhill and the Chepe; and Elizabeth had some apt remarks to make concerning each of them. She would have the citizens know that she was no mere spectator; she was one of them. Her smiles were for all—for the aldermen and the members of the City’s guilds, for the governors and scholars of Christ’s Hospital, one of whom made a speech to which she listened with grave attention.

Most significant of all was her encounter with the two old men who sat at the Little Conduit in Cheapside, one with his scythe and his hourglass, representing Time. Time was her friend; she had always said so. And the other represented Truth; he gave her a Bible in English; and all those about her noticed with what fervency she took this holy book and kissed it.

She listened to the singing of the song which told her of her subjects’ wishes:

“… our hope is sure

That into error’s place thou wilt the truth restore …”

And as she listened she held the Bible against her breast and raised her eyes; and when the people cheered and called blessings on her, she cried: “Be ye assured I will stand your good Queen!”

And so she went to Whitehall; and the next day to the Abbey for the crowning. The dream had come true. Hers was the anointing; in her hands were placed the orb and the scepter; and the voices echoed about her: “Yea, yea, yea. God save Queen Elizabeth!”

There was one duty which, Elizabeth was assured by her councillors, she must not evade. The country would not be completely happy until there was a royal nursery at the palace and the son of Elizabeth was born.

“Marry!” was the urgent advice. “And the sooner the better.”

In spite of a coquettishly expressed love of the virgin state, Elizabeth was by no means unwilling to consider suitors; and as there was no better partie in the world than the Queen of England, there were many to compete for her hand.

In the meantime she was making her future policy clearer.

She had discreetly declared to the Protestant countries her desire to return England to the Reformed Faith; and at the same time, as she had no desire to offend France and Spain, she let it be known that she intended to allow her subjects freedom of thought in religious matters.

The Pope was enraged. He declared that he was unable to understand what right a woman, who had been born out of wedlock, had to the throne; and furthermore, in his opinion, Mary Queen of Scots was the rightful heir. He did not understand how this new doctrine of liberty of conscience could be successful. He feared its consequences.

The Queen, secure in her own country, could snap her fingers at the Pope; she felt that was what most of her subjects wished her to do. She recalled her ambassador from Rome, but he, threatened with excommunication if he obeyed her, stayed where he was. The Queen was indifferent. England was with her; so what did she care for the rest of the world? The Catholic peers had kissed her cheek and sworn to give her their allegiance. She had the common people firmly behind her, for the brief return to Rome under Mary, which had brought with it misery and persecution, seemed to them an evil thing.

She continued magnanimous toward her old enemies; and they, finding they had nothing to fear from her, as she had guessed they would be, were ready to serve her.

She had laughed at their terrors. “ We are of the nature of a lion,” she said. “We cannot descend to the destruction of mice.”

The country had emerged from the reign of Mary in a poor condition; but hopes were high under the new young Queen. Now all looked confidently to her to marry; it was believed by all her statesmen that, although she had shown some wisdom, being a woman, she needed a firm masculine hand to help her rule.

That made Elizabeth smile. She intended to show them that a lioness was as fitted as a lion to defend her own. But that would come. In such matters she must never abandon her caution.

Her subtlety soon began to surprise those about her; and none realized this more fully than the Spanish ambassador, the Count of Feria. The hopes of Feria rested on the Catholic peers who, he was certain, had gone over to Elizabeth’s side only for expediency’s sake. He advised his master that these men could easily be won to the service of Spain, providing the bribes which were offered them were attractive enough. Philip saw reason in this, and was prepared to spend a great deal of Spanish money on his Catholic friends in England.

The Count considered the most likely “pensioner” to be Lord William Howard, a Catholic, whom the Queen had made her Chamberlain; and he quickly discovered that Howard was amenable to bribes. But before the first payment was made Howard appeared reluctant to accept the money. Feria was disconsolate; he had hoped for much from the Chamberlain. Then to the Count’s consternation, a few days after Howard had refused to accept the bribe, he came to Feria and told him: “I could not accept your magnificent offer until I knew the Queen’s pleasure.” Feria was astounded; he had naturally discussed the matter of payment to Howard with the utmost delicacy, but it had never occurred to him that the man had not clearly understood for what purposes the money was to be paid. Then came the most astonishing revelation. “I have now the Queen’s consent to accept the money and shall be glad if you will send me the first payment.”

Philip and Feria were exasperated beyond endurance. They had learned yet another lesson regarding the sharp wits of the Queen.

Nor did Elizabeth allow the matter to rest there. She blithely told Feria that she was delighted to hear of his generosity. She added coyly: “I hope his Most Catholic Majesty will not be offended if I employ some of the servants he has here among my courtiers.”

He wrote to his master that he would go no further in this matter of bribes. He had hoped to lure Cecil, Bacon, Robert Dudley, and Parry to work for Spain. Cecil, however, was possessed of a large fortune and would not be interested in money; Bacon was his close friend and a brother-in-law of Cecil’s, for they had each married a daughter of Sir Anthony Cooke—two very learned women and tiresome bluestockings; there was not much hope in that direction. Thomas Parry, who had long been her cofferer and whom she had now knighted, might be amenable. His real name was Vaughan, but because his father’s name was Harry and he came from Wales he had been called, after the fashion there, Thomas ap Harry, which had become Parry. This man was a gossip, but so attached to the Queen was he that Feria would not hasten to approach him with offers of money. As for Lord Robert Dudley—that handsome young man about the Queen’s own age—Elizabeth appeared to dote on him, and indeed her conduct was giving rise to rumors. In the opinion of the Spanish ambassador it was not easy to know who could be trusted to work for Spain.

The Queen suddenly put an end to such trains of thought by declaring that there must be an end to all “pensions” from Spain.

She was now ready to consider her suitors, a project which gave her much pleasure.

The first and most important was her brother-in-law, Philip, the King of Spain himself.

How she enjoyed herself, alternately gay and serious, tormenting the solemn Feria, refusing to see him, then having him sit beside her and making much of him. She did not think, she declared, that such a marriage would be successful; she was reminded again and again of all her father had suffered when he went through a form of marriage with his brother’s widow.

Feria assured her that the Pope would give his dispensation. She pointed out that the Pope had shown himself to be no friend of hers. The Pope, Feria said coldly, could be persuaded by his master; and if the marriage took place Elizabeth would have no need to fear Papal enmity.

That was true, she admitted; but as she was in no fear of the Pope whatsoever, she had little to gain in that direction.

There were other suitors. There were Eric of Sweden and Archduke Charles, son of Emperor Ferdinand. It gave her great pleasure to consider each and discuss them in turn, to blow hot and cold, to raise objections and then pretend to be favorably inclined. There were many conferences and entertainments to honor the ambassadors of her suitors; but none of the courtships progressed.