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youself—now I digress, Cecil, forgive me—a union between England, France and Scotland, all under one woman, would mean the end of Philip’s power in Europe. He’d lose his hold on the Netherlands overnight, for France has long been eyeing them. He’d face a combination of such strength that all Spain’s might wouldn’t be able to resist the armies which would stream over his frontiers. And that’s why I can tell you that he is on my side, because he has to be, for his own interests. I shall send this letter—it can do no harm, and visible sign of his friendship may make France pause a little. We are in a triangle, Cecil, and thank God I think we are the base, which is the side that keeps the balance.”
    She had only been Queen of England for twelve days, but her grasp of the strength and weakness of her own situation would have done credit to a seasoned statesman. It was so remarkable that Cecil forgave her the jibe about his execution at the hands of a successor. But there was one point she had overlooked or, rather, deliberately left out.
    â€œIf, as you say, Philip married your sister to stop her marrying a Frenchman, whom will he permit you to marry, Madam?”
    â€œHe has many relatives,” Elizabeth said coolly. “He may even propose himself—I shall consider them all in turn.”
    â€œBut you won’t choose one of them?” She saw the surprise and alarm in his face, usually so grave and impassive, and she laughed.
    â€œOh, Cecil, Cecil, how little you know me to ask that question! Do you suppose that I would give myself to that Spanish codfish, and die of neglect as my sister did—do you think I should be fool enough to marry one of his cousins, and provoke France into declaring war on me in favour of Mary Stuart? But I’ll tell you this, I have a value in the marriage market, and I shall make the best of it; Spanish suitors, French suitors, Catholics, Protestants, let them all come, and I’ll give them an Englishman here and there to balance the odds.”
    â€œBut when you do choose,” he persisted, “and you must, Madam—for your own safety and the safety of the realm you must follow.”
    â€œNot if I marry an Englishman,” Elizabeth countered swiftly. “That might be the answer for the future. I have no stomach for foreigners.”
    â€œAnd what Englishman could possibly aspire to you?” Cecil’s voice was deceptively quiet. From the moment of her accession he and Arundel and Sussex and the other lords had been concerned about the question of Elizabeth’s marriage. They had been so busy considering the implications of an alliance with any of the Royal houses abroad that the possibility of an English candidate had never occurred to any of them. But the man who married Elizabeth would be the first man in the kingdom; he would automatically take the title of King, and the lives of Cecil and his friends and co-Councillors would depend upon that man as much as they did at the moment on Elizabeth herself. An Englishman! Cecil’s heart jumped like a stag at the idea that the Queen had already seen someone, or had long intended marriage with a secret lover. In the name of God he could think of only one man who had received any sign of favour from her in the last twelve days. Dudley, Robert Dudley! That cunning, self-seeking upstart!
    â€œHave you a man in mind, Madam?”
    â€œContent yourself, my friend. I have no secrets from you. I have seen no one who moves me towards marriage. I doubt if such a man exists. We have talked about ‘when’ I marry—it would be closer to truth to say ‘if’.”
    The audience was over; Cecil kissed her hand and hurried back to his apartments where an enormous amount of work was waiting for him. When he finished that, he arranged for a watch to be set on Robert Dudley and the times and places and duration of his meetings with the Queen