Elizabeth's hair was like a golden halo with hints of red in it. I had heard that her father possessed a magnetism which drew people to him in spite of his cruelty, and she had that too; but in her case it was tempered with a feminine power to bewitch which must have come through her mother.

I felt in those first moments that she was all that I had pictured her to be and I immediately sensed that she had taken a fancy to me. My unusual coloring and my vivacity had meant that I had always been accepted as the beauty of our family and my good looks had attracted the Queen.

"You have a good deal of your grandmother in you," my mother had once said. "You will have to guard against your nature."

I knew what she meant. Men would find me attractive, as they had Mary Boleyn, and I should have to guard against granting favors where they could bring me no good. It was a prospect which delighted me and was one of the reasons why I was so pleased to have come to Court.

The Queen was seated on a large carved chair which was like a throne and my mother led me to her.

"Your Majesty, my daughter Letitia. We call her Lettice in the family."

I curtsied, keeping my eyes lowered as I had been told I must, conveying that I dared not raise them because of the dazzling brilliance of royalty.

"Then so shall I call her," said the Queen. "Lettice, stand up and come closer so that I can see you better."

Shortsightedness made her pupils seem very large. I was amazed by the delicate texture and whiteness of her skin; her light brows and lashes gave her a certain look of surprise.

"Why, Cat," she said to my mother, for it was a habit of hers to give people nicknames and my mother's being Catherine it was easy to see why she called her Cat, "you have a pretty daughter here."

In those days my good looks pleased her. She was always susceptible to good looks—particularly in men, of course, but she did like handsome women too ... until the men she liked admired them also!

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

The Queen laughed. "You're a fertile wife, Cousin," she said. "Seven sons and four daughters, is it? I like to see large families. And, Lettice, give me your hand. We're cousins, you know. How like you England now you have returned to it?"

"England is a beautiful place since Your Majesty became its Queen."

"Ha!" she laughed. "I see you bring her up in the right fashion. That's Francis, I'll swear."

"Francis was always watchful of what was happening to his sons and daughters while we were away from home," said my mother. "When Your Majesty was in danger he was in despair ... so indeed were we all."

She nodded gravely. "Well, now you are home and life should go well for you. You'll have to find husbands for your girls, Cat. If they are all as handsome as Lettice that should not be difficult."

"It is such a joy to be home, Madam," said my mother. "I verily believe that neither I nor Francis can give thought to anything but that for a while."

"We shall see what can be done," said the Queen, her eyes on me. "Your Lettice has not much to say for herself," she commented.

"I had believed I must wait for Your Majesty's permission to speak," I said quickly.

"So you can speak up, then. I'm glad of that. I could never abide those who cannot give an account of themselves. A plausible rogue is more amusing than a silent saint. So what will you tell me of yourself?"

"I will say that I share my parents' delight in being here and seeing my royal kinswoman where we have always fervently believed she belonged."

"Well spoken. I can see that you have after all taught her to use her tongue, Cousin."

"That is something I taught myself, Madam," I retorted quickly.

My mother looked alarmed at my temerity, but the Queen's lips twitched in a manner which showed she was not displeased.

"What else did you teach yourself?" asked the Queen.

"To listen when I was incapable of taking part in discussion; and to throw myself into the center of it when I could."

The Queen laughed. "Then you have learned much wisdom. You will have need of it when you come to Court. Many prate but a few ever learn the art of listening and those who do are the wise men and women. And you ... but seventeen, is it? ... have learned this already. Come and sit near me. I would talk with you for a while."

My mother was looking well pleased and at the same time flashing a warning glance at me, telling me not to let this initial success go to my head. She was right. I could be impulsive, and instinct warned me that the Queen could be as suddenly displeased as pleased.

My opportunity to walk on this dangerous ground was denied me, for at that moment the door opened unceremoniously and a man came into the room. My mother looked startled and I realized that he must have broken some strict rule of royal etiquette thus to burst in unannounced.

He was different from any man I had seen. There was an indefinable quality about him which was immediately apparent. To say that he was handsome—which he undoubtedly was—conveys little. There are many handsome men but I have never found one who was possessed of his outstanding quality. I had seen him before at the coronation. It may be thought that it was love which made me see Robert Dudley thus; it may be that he bemused and bewitched me as he did so many women—even Elizabeth herself—but I did not always love him, and when I look far back and remember what happened in our last days together I shudder even now. Loving or hating Robert Dudley, one would have to admit that charismatic quality. Charism is defined as a free gift of grace and I can think of nothing better with which to describe him. He was born with that free gift of grace, and he knew it well.

In the first place he was one of the tallest men I have ever seen and he emanated power. Power, I believe, is the very essence of attractiveness in men. At least it has always been so with me ... until I grew older. When I discussed lovers with my sisters—and I did frequently because I knew they would play a big part in my life—I said my lover would be a man who would command others; he would be rich and others would fear his wrath—all except myself. He would fear mine. I realize that in describing the sort of lover I desired, I am in truth describing myself. I was always ambitious—not for temporal power. I never envied Elizabeth her crown, and I was glad that she had it because when the rivalry was strong between us I could prove that I could triumph over her without it. I wanted attention to be centered on me. I wanted to be irresistible to those who pleased me. I was at this time beginning to realize that I was a woman of deep sensual needs and that they would have to be satisfied.

Robert Dudley, then, was the most attractive man I had ever seen. He was very dark—almost to swarthiness, his hair growing thick and nearly black; his dark eyes were lively and gave the impression of seeing all; his nose was slightly hooked; his figure was that of an athlete, and he held himself like a king in the presence of a queen.

I sensed the change his arrival created in Elizabeth. Her pale skin was tinged with pink.

" Tis Rob," she said, "as we might have expected. So you come to us thus unannounced." The soft caress in her voice belied the sharpness of her words, and it was clear that the interruption was by no means unwelcome, clear too that she had forgotten my mother and me.

She held out her beautiful white hand; he bowed as he took it and kissed it, keeping it while his eyes went to her face and by the smile they exchanged I could have sworn they were lovers.

"Dear lady," he said, "I made haste to come to you."

"Some calamity?" she replied. "Come, tell me."

"Nay," he replied, "only the desire to see you which would not be put aside."

My mother's hand was on my. shoulder, turning me towards the door. I looked back at the Queen. I had supposed I should wait for permission to retire.

My mother shook her head as she inclined it towards the door. We went out together. The Queen had forgotten us; so had Robert Dudley.

When the door had shut behind us, my mother said: "They say there would be a marriage between them but for the fact that he already has a wife."

I kept thinking about them. I could not forget the handsome, elegant Robert Dudley and the manner in which he had looked at the Queen. I was piqued that he had not cast even one glance in my direction, and I promised myself that if he had I should have made him take a second. I kept seeing him in his white starched ruff, his padded hips, his doublet, his bombasted breeches, the diamond in one ear. I remembered the perfect shape of his legs in their close-fitting hose; he had been garterless because of the symmetry of his legs, which allowed him to dispense with articles so necessary to men less well equipped.

The memory of that first meeting remained in my mind as something I had to avenge, because on that occasion when the triangle was formed neither of them gave a thought to Lettice Knollys whose mother, a short time before, had most humbly presented her to the Queen.

It was a beginning. After that I was often at Court. The Queen had a strong friendly feeling for her mother's family even though the name of Anne Boleyn was rarely mentioned. This was characteristic of Elizabeth. There were certain to be many people in the country who doubted her legitimacy. None would dare refer to it, of course, on pain of death, but she was too wise not to accept the fact that it was in their minds. Although Anne Boleyn's name was rarely mentioned, the Queen was constantly calling attention to her own resemblance to her father Henry VIII and in fact stressed the similarities whenever possible. As she undoubtedly had a look of him, this was not difficult. At the same time she was always ready to favor her mother's relations, as if in that way she might make amends to that forsaken lady. My sister Cecilia and I thus became maids of honor to the Queen and so within a few weeks we were ladies of the Court. Anne and Catharine were too young, but in due course their time would come.

Life was full of excitement. This was what we had dreamed of during the dull years in Germany and I was just of an age to enjoy it.

The Court was the center of the country—a magnet drawing to it the rich and ambitious. All the great families of the country circulated about the Queen, each vying with the other in magnificence. Elizabeth, at the very heart of it, loved display and extravagance—as long as she did not have to pay for it; she enjoyed pageantry, gaiety, balls and banquets—although I noticed that she was abstemious regarding both drinking and eating. But she was fond of music and was tireless where dancing was concerned, and although she danced mainly with Robert Dudley, she did take a fleeting delight in any handsome young man who could dance well. She fascinated me mainly because of the diversity of her character. To see her in some extravagantly glittering gown dancing—and often coquettishly—with Robert Dudley, so that the performance was like the titillating preliminary to an amorous climax, gave an impression of such lightness which in a queen would seem fatal to her future; then she could change suddenly; she would be acerbic, serious, asserting her authority and even then showing men of great talent like William Cecil that she had a complete grasp of a situation and it would be her will that would be done. As no one could be sure when her lighthearted mood would be over, everyone must tread cautiously. Robert Dudley was the only one who overstepped the mark; but I saw her, on more than one occasion, administer a playful slap on his cheek, familiarly affectionate and yet at the same time carrying with it a reminder that she was the Queen and he her subject. I saw Robert take the reproving hand and kiss it, which softened her mood. He was very sure of himself in those days.

It was soon clear that she had taken a liking to me. I danced as well as she did, though none would have dared acknowledge this. At Court no one danced as well as the Queen; no woman's gown was as becoming as the Queen's; no one's beauty could possibly compare with hers; she was supreme in all things. I knew full well, however, that I was spoken of as one of the most beautiful women at Court; the Queen acknowledged this and called me "Cousin." I had a certain wit too, which I warily tried on the Queen. It did not displease her. She found that she could indulge her Boleyn relations from pleasure as well as duty to her dead mother, and there were frequent times when she kept me at her side. In those first days we, who were to confront each other in such bitterness and with such hatred in the years to come, then often laughed together, and she showed so clearly that she enjoyed my company. But she did not allow me—or any other of her pretty ladies—to be near her when Robert was with her in her private apartments. I often used to think that the reason she must constantly be told she was transcendingly beautiful was because she was unsure of it. How attractive would she be without royalty? I asked myself. But it was impossible to imagine her without it because it was so much a part of her. I would study my long lashes, my heavily marked brows, my luminous dark eyes and rather narrow face framed in masses of honey-yellow hair and exultantly compare my face with that pale one with its almost invisible lashes and brows, its imperious nose, its white, white skin which made her look almost delicate. I knew that any unprejudiced observer would admit that I was the beauty. But her royalty was there and with it the knowledge that she was the sun and the rest of us merely planets revolving around her, dependent on her for our light. In the days before she had become Queen she had been delicate and had suffered several illnesses during her hazardous youth and had, so we had heard, often been on the point of death. Now she was Queen she seemed to have thrown off these ailments; they had been the growing pains of royalty; but even when she had dispensed with them the pallor of her skin preserved the air of delicacy. When she painted her face, which she loved to do, she lost that look of fragility, but whatever she did, the royalty remained, and that was something with which no woman could compete.