The Tudor Vendetta Read Online Free Page B

hand that feeds him. And by God, I’ve a mind to tie him in a sack and drown him myself.” He was actually starting to step down, fists curled at his sides, when an authoritative voice called out, “My lord, if you please! These men are here at my invitation.”
    Relief overcame me as I turned to see Cecil coming toward us. I was in no mood to contend with Robert Dudley now, though judging by his frozen stance and the glare he directed at Cecil I had no doubt that I’d have to deal with him later.
    Cecil was somewhat out of breath from his brisk walk across the hall. He quickly assessed us with that expert ease that made everything he did seem perfectly timed. He looked tired. Having reached his thirty-eighth year, he’d started to display a middle-age paunch, no doubt from all the hearty fare he enjoyed at his country manor with his devoted wife Lady Cecil, but his russet beard remained free of telltale gray and he still retained a keen air.
    “Master Walsingham, we did not expect you so soon.” Cecil did not greet me and I lowered my eyes, feigning subservience. Evidently, I was indeed to act the role of manservant, as Walsingham confirmed with his next words: “I apologize for the inconvenience. The trip took less time than expected and I hired a wherry to avoid the Bridge. But, my man and I are clearly not fit company. If a room could be made available…?”
    Dudley guffawed, swiveling with aristocratic bonhomie to his fellow nobles. “Do you hear that, my lords? They would like a room! Perhaps we can equip it with fine linen and a hot bath, as well, eh?” His derisive laughter faded abruptly. As he swerved back to us, he said, “Lest you had not heard, Her Majesty has only just assumed her throne. I’m afraid we are full at this time, unless you’d care to bed in one of the kennels.” He fixed his taunting gaze on me. “I’m sure your manservant is acquainted with such, having lain with dogs all his life.”
    I kept my face averted, lest my disgust for him showed. I noticed Cecil was adept at hiding his own distaste, well acquainted with Dudley’s preemptory manner. He also knew how deep the rift ran between my former master and me; but Dudley was still a childhood friend and intimate of the queen’s, and Cecil managed to display the appropriate level of respect when he replied, “My lord, we are of course fully aware of how little space there is at court. However, I’m sure Her Majesty would wish us to find suitable lodgings for our guests.”
    Rage darkened Dudley’s countenance but before he could retort, a sudden hush fell over the hall, followed by a susurration that rippled through the courtiers like wind. At the dais, the nobles tugged at their doublets and hastened to bow. Dudley himself did not move, staring at me with a violent promise that seemed to empty the hall around us, so that we stood alone. He mouthed, “You are mine, Prescott,” and then he swept into practiced obeisance, leaving me to whirl about as Elizabeth made her entrance.
    The effect she had on the assembly was immediate. Everyone seemed to hold their breath as her slim figure passed through a flutter of curtsies and bows. She held a jeweled pomander, and a slight flush on her angular cheekbones enhanced her pallor. She wore sienna damask, her fiery hair twined in an agate-studded net to expose the length of her alabaster throat. She was not beautiful—her forehead too high and features too narrow, her nose an aquiline thrust—but she conveyed such a consummate illusion of beauty that most believed her to be. Her dark amber eyes glittered, capturing me with that leonine intensity that first made me hers from the moment she had directed their power at me five years ago. Now, after having survived numerous attempts to either imprison or execute her, she had finally attained the seemingly impossible feat of becoming queen. I had been one of those who had fought to see her to this moment, and my heart swelled at the sight