She turned and smiled. ‘Yes, Hannah, of course.’

‘It is a matter of state and I am not qualified to judge,’ I said cautiously. ‘And I am a young woman, and perhaps I don’t understand.’

‘Understand what?’ she asked.

‘The news from London is very cruel,’ I said, taking the plunge. ‘I am sorry if I speak out of turn, but there is much cruelty being done in your name and your advisors do not tell you of it.’

There was a little ripple at my temerity. At the back of the group of ladies I saw Will Somers roll his eyes at me.

‘Why, what do you mean, Hannah?’

‘Your Grace, you know that many of the great Protestants of the land have gone quietly to Mass and their priests have put away their wives and become obedient to the new laws. It is only their servants and the foolish people in the villages who do not have the wit to tell a lie when they are examined. Surely you would not want the simple people of your country to be burned for their faith? Surely, you would want to show them mercy?’

I expected her smile of acknowledgement, but the face she turned to me was scowling. ‘If there are families who have turned their coat and not their faith then I want their names,’ she said, her voice hard. ‘You are right: I don’t seek to burn servants, I want them all, masters and men, to turn again to the church. I would be a sorry Queen of England if I did not insist on the same law for rich and for poor. If you know the name of a priest with a wife in hiding, Hannah, then you had better tell me now or you will be risking your own immortal soul.’

I had never seen her so cold.

‘Your Grace!’

It was as if she did not hear me. She put her hand on her heart and she cried out: ‘Before God, Hannah, I will save this country from sin even though it cost life after life. We have to turn back to God and from heresy and if it takes a dozen fires, if it takes a hundred fires, we will do it. And if you, even you, are hiding a name then I will have it from you, Hannah. There will be no exceptions made. Even you shall be questioned. If you will not tell, I shall have you questioned . . .’

I could feel the colour draining from my face and my heart start to race. After surviving so long, to put myself into danger, to step up to the rack! ‘Your Grace!’ I stammered. ‘I am innocent . . .’

There was a scream from the back of the court and we all turned to look. A lady in waiting was running, holding her skirts away from her pounding feet, towards the queen. ‘Your Grace!’ she whimpered. ‘Save me! It is the fool! He is run mad!’