There is a knock at the door and the two guards swing it open. ‘Herr Doktor Carl Harst,’ the guard announces, labouring over the title, and the Cleves ambassador comes into the room, looks around for me, and bows low. All the ladies in waiting curtsey while looking him over and noting, in a breeze of critical whispers, the worn shine on the collar of his velvet jacket and the scuffed heels on his boots. Even the feather in his bonnet looks as if it has had a hard journey overland from Cleves. I can feel myself flush with shame that this man should be representing my country to the wealthiest and most frivolous court in Christendom. He will make himself laughable, and me with him.

‘Herr Doktor,’ I say and stretch out my hand for him to kiss.

I can see he is taken aback by my fashionable dress, my English hood set neatly on my hair, the rich rings on my fingers and the gold chains at my waist. He kisses my hand and says in German: ‘I am honoured to present myself to you, Your Grace. I am your ambassador.’

Dear God, he looks more like a poor clerk. I nod.

‘You have broken your fast?’ I ask.

He makes a little embarrassed face. ‘I . . . er . . . I could not quite . . .’

‘You have not eaten?’

‘I could not find the hall, Your Grace. I am sorry. The palace is very large and my rooms are some way from the main building, and there was no-one . . .’

They have put him somewhere halfway to the stables. ‘You did not ask someone? There are thousands of servants?’

‘I don’t speak English.’

I am truly shocked. ‘You don’t speak English? How will you conduct the business of our country? Nobody here speaks German.’

‘Your brother the duke thought that the councillors and the king would speak German?’

‘He knows full well that they do not.’

‘And he thought I would learn English. I already speak Latin,’ he adds defensively.

I could cry, I am so disappointed. ‘You must certainly have some breakfast,’ I say, trying to recover myself. I turn to Kitty Howard who, as usual, is lingering at my side eavesdropping. She is welcome to our conversation so far. If she can speak German well enough to spy then she can translate for this useless ambassador. ‘Mistress Howard, would you send one of the maids for some bread and cheese for the ambassador? He has not broken his fast. And some small ale.’

As she goes I turn back to him. ‘Do you have any letters for me from my home?’

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I have instructions from your brother, and your mother sends her maternal love and hopes you are a credit to your home and have not forgotten her loving discipline.’

I nod. I would prefer it if she had sent me a competent ambassador who could also have been a credit to my home, rather than this chilly blessing, but I take the package of letters that he holds out to me, and he settles to his breakfast at one end of the table and I read my letters at the other end.