He bowed to her, his nose to his knees, and then came back up, radiant. ‘You should blame your holy fool,’ he said. ‘She distracted me.’

‘Oh, did she foresee you causing this uproar?’

‘No, Your Grace,’ he said sweetly. ‘She never foresees anything. In all the time I have known her, in all the time she has been your servant, and eaten remarkably well for a spiritual girl, she has never said one thing of any more insight than any slut might remark.’

I was laughing and protesting at the same time, the queen was laughing out loud, and the king was smiling, trying to follow the jest. ‘Oh, Will!’ the queen reproached him. ‘You know that the child has the Sight!’

‘Sight she may have but no speech,’ Will said cheerfully. ‘For she has never said a word I thought worth hearing. Appetite she has, if you are keeping her for the novelty of that. She is an exceptionally good doer.’

‘Why, Will!’ I cried out.

‘Not one word from her,’ he insisted. ‘She is a holy fool like your man is king. In name alone.’

It was too far for the Spanish pride. The English roared at the jest but as soon as the Spanish understood it they scowled, and the queen’s smile abruptly died.

‘Enough,’ she said sharply.

Will bowed. ‘But also like the king himself, the holy fool has greater gifts than a mere comical fool like me could tell,’ he amended quickly.

‘Why, what are they?’ someone called out.

‘The king gives joy to the most gracious lady in the kingdom, as I can only aspire to do,’ Will said carefully. ‘And the holy fool has brought the queen her heart, as the king has most graciously done.’

The queen nodded at the recovery, and waved Will to his dinner place with the officers. He passed me with a wink. ‘Funny,’ he said firmly.

‘You upset the Spanish,’ I said in an undertone. ‘And traduced me.’

‘I made the court laugh,’ he defended himself. ‘I am an English fool in an English court. It is my job to upset the Spanish. And you matter not a jot. You are grist, child, grist to the mill of my wit.’

‘You grind exceeding small, Will,’ I said, still nettled.

‘Like God himself,’ he said with evident satisfaction.

* * *

That night I went to bid goodnight to Lady Elizabeth. She was dressed in her nightgown, a shawl around her shoulders, seated by the fireside. The glowing embers put a warmth in her cheeks and her hair, brushed out over her shoulders, almost sparkled in the light from the dying fire.

‘Good night, my lady,’ I said quietly, making my bow.

She looked up. ‘Ah, the little spy,’ she said unpleasantly.

I bowed again, waiting for her permission to leave.

‘The queen summoned me, you know,’ she said. ‘Straight after dinner, for a private chat between loving sisters. It was my last chance to confess. And if I am not mistaken that miserable Spaniard was hidden somewhere in the room, hearing every word. Probably both of them, that turncoat Pole too.’