The queen looked up, the glimmer of a smile in her eyes. ‘Matrimony? Will?’

‘I am a proclaimed bacheloroh,’ he said, from the back of the hall there was a suppressed giggle. ‘As everybody knowsohs. But I am prepared to overlookoh it, on this occasionoh.’

‘What occasion?’ The queen’s voice trembled with laughter.

‘On the occasion of my proposaloh,’ he said. ‘To Your Grace, of matrimonioh.’

It was dangerous ground, even for Will.

‘I am not seeking a husband,’ the queen said primly.

‘Then I will withdraw,’ he said with immense dignity. He rose to his feet and stepped backwards from the throne. The court held its breath for the jest, the queen too. He paused; his timing was that of a musician, a composer of laughter. He turned. ‘But don’t you go thinkingoh,’ he waved a long bony forefinger at her in warning, ‘don’t you go thinkingoh that you have to throw yourself away on the son of a mere emperororoh. Now you know you could have me, you know.’

The court collapsed into a gale of laughter, even the queen laughed as Will, with his comical gangling gait, went back to his seat and poured himself an extra large bumper of wine. I looked across at him and he raised it to me, one fool to another. He had done exactly what he was supposed to do: to take the most difficult and most painful thing and turn it into a jest. But Will could always do more than that, he could take the sting from it, he could make a jest that hurt no-one, so that even the queen, who knew that she was tearing her country apart over her determination to be married, could smile and eat her dinner and forget the forces massing against her for at least one evening.

* * *

I went home to my father leaving a court humming with gossip, walking through a city seething with rebellion. The rumours of a secret army mustering to wage war against the queen were everywhere. Everyone knew of one man or another missing from his home, run off to join the rebels. Lady Elizabeth was said to be ready and willing to marry a good Englishman—Edward Courtenay—and had promised to take the throne as soon as her sister was deposed. The men of Kent would not allow a Spanish prince to conquer and subdue them. England was not some dowry which a princess, a half-Spanish princess, could hand over to Spain. There were good Englishmen that the queen should take if she had a mind to marry. There was handsome young Edward Courtenay with a kinship to the royal line on his own account. There were Protestant princelings all over Europe, there were gentlemen of breeding and education who would make a good king-consort to the queen. Assuredly she must marry, and marry at once, for no woman in the world could rule a household, much less a kingdom, without the guidance of a man; a woman’s nature was not fitted to the work, her intelligence could not stretch to the decisions, her courage was not great enough for the difficulties, she had no steadfastness in her nature for the long haul. Of course the queen must marry, and give the kingdom a son and heir. But she should not marry, she should never even have thought of marrying a Spanish prince. The very notion was treason to England and she must be mad for love of him, as everyone was saying, even to think of it. And a queen who could set aside common sense for her lust was not fit to rule. Better to overthrow a queen maddened by desire in her old age than suffer a Spanish tyrant.