There had been chatter about stately Hatton and handsome Heneage de Vere, the dashing king of the tiltyard, and young Blount who blushed when the eye of Her Majesty was fixed upon him. There was the Earl of Essex now, tall, handsome and irresponsible, to give the gossips something to whisper about.
And yet no one, however spiteful, however malicious, could deny that Elizabeth was great. As Rodney had said, men were ready to live and, if necessary, to die for her and to count their lives either way of little consequence. And yet she was just a woman.
Lizbeth remembered the throb in Rodney’s voice and felt a strange sensation she had never known before. Although the idea was almost laughable, it was almost a jealousy that any woman, even if she were a Queen, should draw men to her in such
