“Are you in trouble?”

“Ah, I wasn’t praying for me,” he said shortly.

“Then who?”

He glanced around the empty chapel and then drew me into a pew. “D’you have any influence with Her Grace, d’you think, Hannah?”

I thought for a moment, then honestly, regretfully, I shook my head. “She listens only to Cardinal Pole and to the king,” I said. “And before everyone, to her own conscience.”

“If you spoke from your gift, would she listen to you?”

“She might,” I said cautiously. “But I cannot command it to serve me, Will, you know that.”

“I thought you might pretend,” he said bluntly.

I recoiled. “It’s a holy gift! It would be blasphemy to pretend!”

“Child, this month there are three men of God in prison charged with heresy, and if I am not mistaken they will be taken out and burned to death: poor Archbishop Cranmer, Bishop Latimer, and Bishop Ridley.”

I waited.

“The queen cannot burn good men who are ordained bishops of her father’s church,” the fool said flatly. “This must not happen.”

He looked at me and he put his arm around my shoulders and hugged me. “Tell her that you have had a gift of Sight and that they must be sent into exile,” he urged me. “Hannah, if these men die then the queen will make an enemy of every man of compassion. These are good men, honorable men, her father’s own appointments. They have not changed their faith, the world has changed around them. They must not die on the queen’s order, she will be shamed forever if she does this. History will remember nothing but that she was the queen who burned bishops.”

I hesitated. “I dare not, Will.”

“If you will do it, I will be there,” he promised me. “I’ll help you. We’ll get through it somehow.”

“You told me yourself never to meddle,” I whispered urgently. “You told me yourself never to try to change the mind of the king. Your master beheaded two wives, never mind bishops, and you didn’t stop him.”

“And he’ll be remembered as a wife-killer,” Will predicted. “And everything else about him that was so brave and loyal and true will be forgot. They will forget that he brought peace and prosperity to the country, that he made an England that we could all love. All they will remember of him will be that he had six wives and beheaded two of them.

“And all they will remember of this queen is that she brought the country floods and famine and fire. She will be remembered as England’s curse when she was to have been our virgin queen, England’s savior.”

“She won’t listen to me…”

“She must listen,” he insisted. “Or she will be despised and forgotten and they will remember – God knows who! Elizabeth! Mary Stuart! – some wanton girl instead of this true-hearted queen.”

“She has done nothing but follow her conscience,” I defended her.

“She must follow her tender heart,” he said. “Her conscience is not a good advisor these days. She must follow her tender heart instead. And you must do your duty to your love for her, and tell her that.”

I rose up from the pew, I found my knees were shaking. “I am afraid, Will,” I said in a small voice. “I am too afraid. You saw what she was like when I spoke out before… I cannot have her accusing me. I cannot have anyone asking where I came from, who my family is…”

He fell silent. “Jane Dormer will not speak with her,” he said. “I already tried her. The queen has no other friend but you.”

I paused, I could feel his will and my conscience pressing against my head, forcing me to do the right thing despite my fears. “All right. I’ll speak with her,” I burst out. “But I’ll do it alone. I’ll do the best I can.”

He stopped me with a hand on mine, and pulled my hand out to see it. I was trembling, my fingers shook. “Child, are you so afraid?”

I looked at him for a moment and I saw that we were both afraid. The queen had made a country where every man and woman was afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing, which would lead to a stake in the marketplace and a pile of green kindling that would burn smokily and slow.

“Yes,” I said honestly, pulling my hand from him to brush a smut off my cheek. “I have spent my life running from this fear and now it seems that I have to walk toward it.”

I waited till the queen was going to bed that evening and was kneeling before her prie-dieu in the corner of her bedroom. I knelt beside her but I did not pray. I was going over in my mind what I could say to persuade her not to do this dreadful thing. For a full hour she was on her knees and when I peeped through my half-closed eyelids I could see that her face was turned up to the statue of the crucified Christ and the tears were pouring down her cheeks.

Finally she rose from her knees and went to her chair at the fireside. I drew the poker from the embers where it had been heating, and thrust it into the mug of ale to warm it for her. When I put it in her hands her fingers were icy cold.

“Your Grace, I have something to ask you,” I said very quietly.

She looked at me as if she hardly saw me. “What is it, Hannah?”

“I have never asked you for anything in the years I have been with you,” I reminded her.

She frowned slightly. “No, you haven’t. What is it you want now?”

“Your Grace, I have heard that your prisons are holding three good men on charges of heresy. Bishop Latimer and Bishop Ridley and Archbishop Cranmer.”

She turned her face to the small fire in the hearth so I could not see her expression, but her voice was flat.

“Yes. It is true that those men are charged.”

“I want to ask you to show mercy,” I said simply. “It is an awful thing to put a good man to death. And everyone says that these are good men. Just mistaken men… just disagreeing with the church’s teaching. But they were good bishops to your brother, Your Grace, and they are ordained bishops in the Church of England.”

She said nothing for a long time. I did not know whether to press the case or to leave it. The silence started to frighten me a little. I sat back on my heels and waited for her to speak and I could hear my own breathing coming too quickly, too lightly for an innocent person. I could feel my own danger coming toward me, like a dog on a scent, and the scent it was following was the sweat of my fear which was prickling me in the armpits and growing cold and damp down my spine.

When she turned to me, she was not like the Mary I loved at all. Her face was like a mask of snow. “They are not good men, for they deny the word of God and the rule of God, and they win others to their sin,” she hissed at me. “They can repent their sins and be forgiven, or they can die. It is to them you should be speaking, Hannah, not me. This is the law: not a human law, not any law, not my law, but the law of the church. If they do not want to be punished by the church then they should not sin. I do not set myself up as judge here, it is the church that decides and they must obey it, as I do.”

She paused for a moment, but I could say nothing against her conviction.

“It is men like them that have brought down the wrath of God on England,” she said. “Not a good harvest, not a wealthy year since my father turned against the church and not a healthy child born into the cradle of England since he put my mother aside.”

I could see her hands trembling and her voice shook with her rising passion. “Do you not see it?” she asked. “You of all people? Do you not see that he put my mother aside and never again got another healthy legitimate child?”

“Princess Elizabeth?” I breathed.

The queen laughed a loud harsh laugh. “She’s not his,” she said derisively. “Look at her. She is a Smeaton, every inch of her. Her mother tried to pass off her bastard as the king’s own child, but now she is grown and behaves like the child of a lute player and a whore, everyone can see her parentage. God gave my father only one healthy child: me; and then my poor father was turned against me and my mother. Since that day there has not been a moment’s good fortune for this country. They persuaded him to destroy the word of God, the abbeys and the nunneries, and then my brother took England deeper into sin. See the price we have paid? Hunger in the country and sickness in the towns.