Elizabeth: The Golden Age Read Online Free PDF Page A

She sat up, panting, and whipped the curtains of her bed open, half-expecting to see her Spanish nemesis waiting for her. There was no one, of course, but she hardly trusted her eyes.
    Her bare feet sank into the thick carpet as she started to pace the room, pausing only to look out the window at a forlorn sliver of moon. Thoughts bombarded her, but she could make no sense of them and retreated into a state of detached consciousness, vague pictures of Spain polluting her mind. She’d never visited the country but tried to imagine the geography, the people and their houses. Most of all, though, she imagined the army, and a fleet of ships that could bring it to England.
    Tugging at her hair, she considered the motivation behind these visions. There was no question that Spain was a threat to the prosperity of her realm—it had been this way for years. So, why nightmares now? Why now, when she’d begun to feel as if a hole was gaping in her heart and wasn’t sure how to fill it? She opened the window and held her hand in the night air, the cold breeze like a salve on her too-hot skin.
    She would speak to the Spanish ambassador tomorrow, consult with her Privy Council, make sure that she was doing everything possible to strengthen her position. Her mind began to clear and the shards of unsettling fear that had come with her nightmare dissipated. She felt the calm that came from being in control and tipped back her head.
    She would not tolerate Spanish threats, even in dreams.
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    Far south of England, light fought for passage through a dense forest, ancient trees blocking its progress. The sun the trees could stop, but they had no defense against the rhythmic motion of axe and saw wielded by an army of foresters. The hum of blades and the crash of falling limbs sent birds and animals scattering, until the only living creatures to be found were the men wreaking this havoc. A dark carriage, royal insignia on its sides, surrounded by a mounted entourage of well-armed knights, flew down a narrow road cut into the woods.
    “‘Elizabeth, you are leading the souls of your people to hell. Turn back. Marry me and save England.’ I spoke to her just as I speak to you now.” Philip smiled at his daughter. The Infanta, Isabella Clara Eugenia, only twelve years old, smiled back at the father who, despite a reputation for coldness, had always rained affection on her.
    His first son, Don Carlos, was deformed, with a hunched back and scores of physical and mental problems. His mother, Maria of Portugal, died soon after the child was born, and was spared the heartbreak of the boy’s madness. Philip never despised Carlos, tried to train him to be a king, but to little avail. Stories of the prince’s cruelty to animals and women circulated through court, as did rumors that he would not be able to have children. In the end, raging mad, he’d plotted against his father and was put in prison, where he died, only twenty-three years old.
    Philip’s second wife, Mary, Queen of England, gave him no child, and he scowled thinking about her, how he’d been led to believe she was a great beauty. How his first sight of her had taught him that portraits lie. She might have saved him from this Enterprise entirely had she done her duty and provided an heir. After Mary’s death, he married Elisabeth of Valois, sister of the king of France. She was the mother of Isabella and her younger sister, Catalina Michaela. A fourth wife—his niece, Anna—provided a son, also named Philip, who so far had proven himself nothing but lazy and uninterested.
    Isabella was his bright star, a smart, engaging, beautiful girl. She had with her today a favorite doll, more like a dressmaker’s model than a toy, fashioned to resemble England’s queen. Philip met the child’s smile, then looked away, out the window, a faint shudder rippling through him at the sight of the ravaged landscape, immense piles of timber. “Every tree that falls hurts me.” He