"More powerful than the Queen?"
"No, of course not, my dear Edward the Seventh," John replied gently, employing his secret pet name for the boy in an attempt to soften the blow of his sudden departure. "He was Lord Chamberlain, and I have to help decide who'll replace him."
"Cannot Queen Elizabeth do that on her own?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because the Queen's advisors are fiercely divided. On our side there's the old loyal nobility. Against us are the new self-made men, cowardly curs who prefer the Court's dark shadows to the bright sun of tournament fighting."
"They're bad men?"
"Yes, because they're all merchants and meddlers who care nothing for our traditions or loyalties. Once such men become bureaucrats, they thrive on discord, shifting allegiances faster than shuttlecocks flying back and forth."
"Is Burghley a bureaucrat?"
"Burghley's their leader. He's the Baron of the Bureaucrats," said John with a grim smile.
"I didn't like him, father."
"There's no reason why you should, my little king, he's a baseborn knave. His grandfather was a steward. Now, the upstart seeks to fish in the Court's troubled waters for his own treacherous profit. I'm riding to London to stop him, and you must turn back right now. Uncle Arthur will be waiting."
-:-:-
Although Burghley professed the Protestant creed, he pursued power with a distinctly amoral zeal. The Earl of Shropshire's sudden death placed everything he wanted within his reach. Burghley knew that Elizabeth trusted him, not least because his careful frugality matched her own instinctive thriftiness. He was the natural successor to Shropshire as Lord Chamberlain.
Then, the ancient families put John forward for the vacant post. Burghley seethed with anger. He rallied Lord Cobham and his other supporters around him. But, even as they cast about for ways to discredit Oxford, a servant ran in with word that the Queen was favoring John as her new Lord Chamberlain.
Burghley was a practical man with a strong Machiavellian streak. When he reached out for a political opportunity, he did so with both hands. True to his nature, Burghley decided to act quickly and ruthlessly. From the moment John returned to Court, he and mortal danger were dancing hand in hand.
-:-:-
On sunny days, Arthur Golding often tutored Edward out of doors. For the last week, they'd been studying in a quiet corner of the orchard. Now, Edward sat alone with his back against an apple tree. He wondered what had detained Arthur. An insect buzzed loudly around his ear. Shooing it away, Edward opened a book and started reading Ovid to himself:
"In the beginning was the Golden Age when the earth itself untouched by the plough yielded up its fruits and all gathered the berries and wild strawberries and lived their lives in a season of everlasting spring.
"Then mankind was content, untroubled by fear, living in peace with simple delights..."
Edward heard Arthur's boots making their way through the thick summer grass. He looked up, little realizing that his childhood was about to end all too abruptly.
There were tears in Arthur's eyes. Slumping down next to Edward, he told him the terrible news from London. John had suddenly taken ill, and as suddenly, died. It took a moment or two for the significance of his tutor's words to strike home. Then, Edward threw himself into Arthur's arms, sobbing convulsively.
John's body was returned to Castle Hedingham and buried in the parish church. After the service, Edward knelt in the empty chancel beside the black marble tomb inscribed, "John de Vere, 16th Earl of Oxford (1522-1562)". Fighting back his tears, he whispered a gentle epitaph:
"He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again."
The royal attendant announced Edward's name. He stepped forward and bowed deeply to the Queen. The Earl briefly considered mentioning the last time he had found himself reading his words to Elizabeth, back in Castle Hedingham but decided against the idea. Reverentially untying the scarlet ribbons binding Castiglioine's book, he began reading his dedication aloud.
From a hidden vantage point, Burghley looked down onto Whitehall Palace's Great Hall as Edward concluded: "Lastly, this is a work which, while worthy of all monarchs, is most worthy of our own Queen, to whom alone is due all the praise of all the Muses and all the glory of literature. Given at the Royal Court on the 5th of January 1571."
Edward closed the book and, bowing, handed it to Elizabeth. Delighted, she led a round of applause. Edward took a second deep bow. John Lyly nodded approvingly. Burghley slunk angrily from his hiding place.
-:-:-
As Edward concluded the story of his ascent to royal favorite, two white swans floated into view, paddling gently down the Avon. He turned to where Anne sat surrounded by the remnants of their picnic. Leaning close, he eased her into his arms. They kissed.
An hour later, the late afternoon sun found them locked in a passionate embrace. Edward pushed things a little too far. Then he ignored Anne's mumbled protests, forcing her to wriggle free of his embrace and tug her dress back into place.
"Know you not sir, that Queen Elizabeth cools heated passions between courtiers and maids with the Tower's frigid tonic?"
"I care not Anne. I would risk a thousand Towers for you." Edward moved to kiss her again. "Thy love is better than high birth to me. Of more delight than hawks or horses be..."
Anne dodged the kiss. "Thy lips are as indiscreet as thy verse. Forbear both. I'll none of them. Better you take them to your wife."
Anne's words stung Edward like a face full of cold river water. He sat up, angrily, "You know I never see her. That loveless marriage was forced on me by Burghley."
"What mean you?"
"Nothing."
"No, my lord, what is it?"
"'Tis a personal matter, a secret."
"What manner of secret?" Anne persisted.
"You must never tell another soul," Edward said earnestly.
"I won't. I promise."
1651
Celia the cook, walked into the bedchamber carrying a heavy serving tray.
"Sorry to interrupt, Ma'am, but I've brought your midday meal."
Ben returned his pen to the inkwell eagerly, his stomach aching for food. He watched in silent agony as Celia served her mistress. It seemed to take the large cook an eternity. Rosie leapt down to the carpet, yapping loudly. Ben squirmed inside. If he could only have a crust of bread while he was waiting, anything to stop his stomach walls rubbing together.
Celia bent over and placed a dish of food beneath Rosie's tiny, pink tongue. Ben licked his lips hungrily. After what seemed like an eternity, Celia turned from the dog and laid a steaming bowl of stew, some bread, and a spoon in front of Ben. Lifting the spoon, he hastily scooped up a mouthful and scorched his throat.
They ate in silence. After Celia had carried the empty bowls away, Anne looked over to Ben and asked, "Where was I? No, don't tell me, I have it. Edward was about to explain how Burghley forced him into marriage..."
Ben nodded encouragingly and dipped his pen. His other hand patted the small pieces of bread he'd hidden in a deep pocket.
"It all seems so long ago. Was it 5 decades or 5 centuries? No matter. What were we speaking of?"
"The Earl gettin' married, an' it please you, Ma'am."
"That's right, his forced marriage. Very well, let me tell you how wedding plans can beget wedding plans."