“When I left she was safe,” he says. “But my lord was sending guards to Audley End to bring her back to London.”

“They plan to capture Queen Elizabeth,” I say briefly to Bess. “It says here. They have a great plan. Kidnap the Queen of England, free the Queen of Scots, raise the people. The Spanish will march through us.” I turn to the man. “Was London ours when you left?”

He nods. “Please God, we are ahead of them by a matter of days. The Queen of Scots’ spy, a man called Ridolfi, blabbed the whole plan to an English merchant in Madrid. Thank the lord he knew what he was hearing and sent word to Cecil, as fast as his messenger could travel. Cecil sent me to you. We think the Spanish will be upon us in days. Their armada is launched, the Spanish Netherlands is armed, and the Pope is sending his wealth to arm traitors and calling out all the English Papists.”

I glance down the letter. “Cecil says that I am to interrogate the queen and prevail upon her to tell me all she knows.”

“I am to be with you,” he says. He staggers to his feet and brushes the dirt from his breeches.

I bristle at the suggestion that I cannot be trusted. He falls back against the portals of the front door from sheer exhaustion.

“This is a matter beyond pride,” he says, seeing that I want to refuse him admission to the queen. “I have to see her and search her room for papers. The Scots queen may know where the Spanish are landing. We have to muster our army and get ready to meet them. This is life or death for England, not just her.”

“I’ll speak to her.” I turn to Bess. “Where is she?”

“Walking in the garden,” she says, her face grave. “I’ll send a girl to fetch her.”

“We’ll go now,” the young man decides, but his legs buckle beneath him as he tries to walk.

“You can barely stand!” Bess exclaims.

He grabs on to the pommel of his saddle and hauls himself upright. The look he shoots at Bess is desperate. “I can’t rest,” he says. “I don’t dare rest. I have to hear what the queen will tell us and get it back to my lord. If she knows at which port the Spanish are landing, we might even be able to intercept the armada at sea and drive them off. Once they land, with six thousand, we won’t have a chance, but if we can hold them at sea...”

“Come then,” I say. “Walk with me.” I give him my arm, and the two of us, I weak with gout and he with exhaustion, hobble towards the gardens.