It is 1548. Henry VIII is dead, his son Edward reigns in name only. The Lord Protector, Edward Seymour, battles with his brother, who seeks to elevate himself to power. Four young men hold the fate of the kingdom in their hands, as they serve the king and his sisters through this time of intrigue, death, and new life.
“I think,” Astley says, “that My Lord has perhaps over-indulged himself and should go to his own bed to rest.” He shakes his head at her, and she glares at him. “My Lord Baron should leave. Now.”
“By God's precious soul, I mean no evil and I will not leave it!” Sudeley growls, careless of his voice being audible elsewhere in the house.
“Mother,” Queen Mary says, “you should not punish him. It is true, I chose to come here.”
“We shall not,” Guise says, “allow that same mistake to happen again.”
“I think you should release him.” The child gestures at Glencairn as she speaks, then at Pike. “He is no spy. He does not deserve to be tortured.”
“Madam,” Glencairn says, bending down and taking her hand, “your mercy and grace know no bounds. But this is an Englishman, an enemy!”
“Make him swear to be loyal to me,” Queen Mary says. Her mother shakes her head and sighs. Glencairn, still holding her hand, angles his head as he tries to formulate his words.
Elizabeth looks around the room, trying to avoid Ascham's eyes, but his steady gaze eventually draws her. She is crying. “You speak as though you were channelling the voice of the one other person I might wish to be here now.”
“But there are other people with whom you might share a kind word or a moment of tenderness. Others who can be here.”
“I do not want a lover, Master Ascham.”
Ascham is, for the first time, taken by surprise by Elizabeth's words. “I had not suggested that you do. A companion, even just for a half-hour of conversation, someone of your own age, of whatever sex, would ease your burden. Especially one who knew your history.”
“I do not like your insinuation, Master Ascham.”
“You cannot spend your life solely in the company of old men and those who seek to gain power by their association with you.” As he speaks, Ascham seems to rise in his chair. Gone is the warmth, replaced instead by something that in a lesser man might come across as a threat, but in Ascham, it is instead more of a portent, a caution. “You will suffer for it. No one should be as alone as you are, Elizabeth. You need friends, and I am sorry to say that this household only offers those of entirely the wrong sort.”
By this time, Elizabeth's face is streaming with tears. “I had my friend. And he left me.”
“I think,” Astley says, “that My Lord has perhaps over-indulged himself and should go to his own bed to rest.” He shakes his head at her, and she glares at him. “My Lord Baron should leave. Now.”
“By God's precious soul, I mean no evil and I will not leave it!” Sudeley growls, careless of his voice being audible elsewhere in the house.
“Mother,” Queen Mary says, “you should not punish him. It is true, I chose to come here.”
“We shall not,” Guise says, “allow that same mistake to happen again.”
“I think you should release him.” The child gestures at Glencairn as she speaks, then at Pike. “He is no spy. He does not deserve to be tortured.”
“Madam,” Glencairn says, bending down and taking her hand, “your mercy and grace know no bounds. But this is an Englishman, an enemy!”
“Make him swear to be loyal to me,” Queen Mary says. Her mother shakes her head and sighs. Glencairn, still holding her hand, angles his head as he tries to formulate his words.
Elizabeth looks around the room, trying to avoid Ascham's eyes, but his steady gaze eventually draws her. She is crying. “You speak as though you were channelling the voice of the one other person I might wish to be here now.”
“But there are other people with whom you might share a kind word or a moment of tenderness. Others who can be here.”
“I do not want a lover, Master Ascham.”
Ascham is, for the first time, taken by surprise by Elizabeth's words. “I had not suggested that you do. A companion, even just for a half-hour of conversation, someone of your own age, of whatever sex, would ease your burden. Especially one who knew your history.”
“I do not like your insinuation, Master Ascham.”
“You cannot spend your life solely in the company of old men and those who seek to gain power by their association with you.” As he speaks, Ascham seems to rise in his chair. Gone is the warmth, replaced instead by something that in a lesser man might come across as a threat, but in Ascham, it is instead more of a portent, a caution. “You will suffer for it. No one should be as alone as you are, Elizabeth. You need friends, and I am sorry to say that this household only offers those of entirely the wrong sort.”
By this time, Elizabeth's face is streaming with tears. “I had my friend. And he left me.”