I will never write this. I am an author and a queen. I can write only words that everyone can read, that the king’s clerks can read aloud to him before all his courtiers. I write words that can go to London and be published even if no one knows who wrote them. I will never write, like poor little Queen Kitty: When I think that you shall depart from me again it makes my heart die. The king beheaded her for that silly little love letter. She wrote her own death warrant. I shall never write such a thing.

The king replies to me, telling me of their progress. He is by turns boastful and wistful, missing his home. The plan to march on Paris was abandoned as soon as he arrived in Calais and was discouraged by the Spanish emperor. They decided that first they should lay siege to the nearby towns. Charles Brandon and Henry take on Boulogne. Thomas Howard Duke of Norfolk continues in his dogged siege of nearby Montreuil. They all demand more powder, more cannon, more shot, and I am to send some miners from Cornwall to dig under the walls of the French towns. I send to the magistrates in Cornwall and demand volunteers, I order cannon to be cast, I have them make powder, I press more and more masons into carving stones for round shot. I summon the Lord Treasurer and ensure that we have enough money coming in to keep the army supplied, and caution him that he may have to go back to Parliament to demand another grant. He warns me that the price of lead is falling as we put more and more on the market, and nobody will buy. I receive petitions from everyone who would normally apply to me, and then I meet with everyone who would normally apply to the king. I sit in the king’s presence chamber every day and the steward of my household indicates who may come forward and speak to me. I answer every letter the day that I receive it, I allow no neglected business to overwhelm my household, I draft in clerks from the Privy Council to work alongside my own people, and, without fail, I report every single thing that I do to the king.