The Queen’s Fool. Philippa Gregory

saw a third man behind you, sir,’ I said to the older one. ‘Out in the street. I am sorry. He is not there now.’

      ‘She is a fool but a good girl,’ my father said, waving me away.

      ‘No, wait,’ the young man said. ‘Wait a minute. I thought this was a lad. A girl? Why d’you have her dressed as a boy?’

      ‘And who was the third man?’ his companion asked me.

      My father became more and more anxious under the barrage of questions. ‘Let her go, my lords,’ he said pitifully. ‘She is nothing more than a girl, a little maid with a weak mind, still shocked by her mother’s death. I can show you my books, and I have some fine manuscripts you may like to see as well. I can show you …’

      ‘I want to see them indeed,’ the older man said firmly. ‘But first, I want to speak with the child. May I?’

      My father subsided, unable to refuse such great men. The older man took me by the hand and led me into the centre of the little shop. A glimmer of light through the leaded window fell on my face and he put a hand under my chin and turned my face one way and then the other.

      ‘What was the third man like?’ he asked me quietly.

      ‘All in white,’ I said through half-closed lips. ‘And shining.’

      ‘What did he wear?’

      ‘I could only see a white cape.’

      ‘And on his head?’

      ‘I could only see the whiteness.’

      ‘And his face?’

      ‘I couldn’t see his face for the brightness of the light.’

      ‘D’you think he had a name, child?’

      I could feel the word coming into my mouth though I did not understand it. ‘Uriel.’

      The hand underneath my chin was very still. The man looked into my face as if he would read me like one of my father’s books. ‘Uriel?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘Have you heard that name before?’

      ‘No, sir.’

      ‘Do you know who Uriel is?’

      I shook my head. ‘I just thought it was the name of the one who came in with you. But I never heard the name before I just said it.’

      The younger man turned to my father. ‘When you say she is a fool, d’you mean that she has the Sight?’

      ‘She talks out of turn,’ my father said stubbornly. ‘Nothing more. She is a good girl, I send her to church every day of her life. She means no offence, she just speaks out. She cannot help it. She is a fool, nothing more.’

      ‘And why d’you keep her dressed like a boy?’ he asked.

      My father shrugged. ‘Oh, my lords, these are troubled times. I had to bring her across Spain and France, and then through the Low Countries without a mother to guard her. I have to send her on errands and have her act as clerk for me. It would have been better for me if she had been a boy. When she is a woman full-grown, I will have to let her have a gown, I suppose, but I won’t know how to manage her. I shall be lost with a girl. But a young lad I can manage, as a lad she can be of use.’

      ‘She has the Sight,’ the older man breathed. ‘Praise God, I come looking for manuscripts and I find a girl who sees Uriel and knows his holy name.’ He turned to my father. ‘Does she have any knowledge of sacred things? Has she read anything more than the Bible and her catechism? Does she read your books?’

      ‘Before God, no,’ my father said earnestly, lying with every sign of conviction. ‘I swear to you, my lord, I have brought her up to be a good ignorant girl. She knows nothing, I promise you. Nothing.’

      The older man shook his head. ‘Please,’ he said gently to me and then to my father, ‘do not fear me. You can trust me. This girl has the Sight, hasn’t she?’

      ‘No,’ my father said baldly, denying me for my own safety. ‘She’s nothing more than a fool and the burden of my life. More worry than she is worth. If I had kin to send her to – I would. She’s not worth your attention …’

      ‘Peace,’ the young man said gently. ‘We did not come to distress you. This gentleman is John Dee, my tutor. I am Robert Dudley. You need not fear us.’

      At their names my father grew even more anxious, as well he might. The handsome young man was the son of the greatest man in the land: Lord John Dudley, protector of the King of England himself. If they took a liking to my father’s library then we could find ourselves supplying books to the king, a scholarly king, and our fortune would be made. But if they found our books seditious or blasphemous or heretical, too questioning, or too filled with the new knowledge, then we could be thrown into prison or into exile again or to our deaths.

      ‘You’re very gracious, sir. Shall I bring my books to the palace? The light here is very poor for reading, there is no need to demean yourselves to my little shop …’

      The older man did not release me. He was still holding my chin and looking into my face.

      ‘I have studies of the Bible,’ my father went on rapidly. ‘Some very ancient in Latin and Greek and also books in other languages. I have some drawings of Roman temples with their proportions explained, I have a copy of some mathematical tables for numbers which I was given but of course I have not the learning to understand them, I have some drawings of anatomy from the Greek …’

      Finally the man called John Dee let me go. ‘May I see your library?’

      I saw my father’s reluctance to let the man browse the shelves and drawers of his collection. He was afraid that some of the books might now, under some new ruling, be banned as heretical. I knew that the books of secret wisdom in Greek and Hebrew were always hidden, behind the sliding back of the bookshelf. But even the ones on show might lead us into trouble in these unpredictable times. ‘I will bring them out to you here?’

      ‘No, I will come inside.’

      ‘Of course, my lord,’ he surrendered. ‘It will be an honour to me.’

      He led the way into the inner room and John Dee followed him. The young lord, Robert Dudley, took a seat on one of the stools and looked at me with interest.

      ‘Twelve years old?’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ I lied promptly, although in truth I was nearly fourteen.

      ‘And a maid, though dressed as a lad.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘No marriage arranged for you?’

      ‘Not straight away, sir.’

      ‘But a betrothal in sight?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘And who has your father picked out for you?’

      ‘I am to marry a cousin from my mother’s family when I am sixteen,’ I replied. ‘I don’t particularly wish it.’

      ‘You’re a maid,’ he scoffed. ‘All young maids say they don’t wish it.’

      I shot a look at him which showed my resentment too clearly.

      ‘Oho! Have I offended you, Mistress Boy?’

      ‘I know my own mind, sir,’ I said quietly. ‘And I am not a maid like any other.’

      ‘Clearly. So what is your mind, Mistress Boy?’

      ‘I don’t wish to marry.’

      ‘And how shall you eat?’

      ‘I should like to have my own shop, and print my own books.’

      ‘And do you think a girl, even a pretty one in breeches, could