“Your ladies will bring them,” he says solemnly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that I am keeping up. I follow in his footsteps and he leads me out of the palace, through the privy gardens, and towards the river. I look around in case there is anyone I know who would take a message for me, but who would take a message? And, in any case, what would it say?

“Is this about the Spanish?” I ask. “For I have not spoken with them, and I have told William Cecil everything that they have ever said to me.”

We go in silence through the gate to the pier. The queen’s sergeant porter, Thomas Keyes, is on duty. He holds open the gate for us and he bows low from his enormous height to me. “My lady,” he says respectfully.

“Mr. Keyes,” I say helplessly.

The captain leads the way to the pier, and there is a barge at the steps, without livery. He puts out his hand to help me down the steps and I go carefully, conscious of my big belly and my weight tipping me forward. I walk up the gangplank and take my seat at the rear of the barge. An awning shades me from the afternoon sun and from anyone watching from the palace. I wonder wildly if William Cecil has fallen into disgrace, just as King Henry’s advisors used to fall, and if it is a mistake to mention his name. “I report to Robert Dudley also,” I say. “I never fail in my loyalty to the queen, and to her faith.”

“My orders were to escort you. I don’t know any more,” the captain says.

The crew cast off and raise their oars and then when the barge is pushed from the pier they dip them, all at the same time, in the water. The hortator beats one strike of the drum and they all pull together and the barge leaps forward, making me rock in my seat. Again and again the drum pounds softly and the barge rocks me to its beat. The sun on the water is dazzling, the baby is heavy in my belly. I am terribly afraid, and I don’t know what I should fear. I wish that Ned were here. I wish with all my heart that Ned were here.

* * *