Part I

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Sir Francis Walsingham straightened in his chair as the clock is his study chimed eleven times. He rubbed his neck tiredly, his eyes still on the document he was pouring over for the last hour: the interrogation transcripts of Lord Norfolk and those who rallied to his cause. Walsingham scrutinized every letter, but it was just a formality. Their guilt was irrefutable and their heads were due to part from their bodies in five days time.

He scanned the list once more: Norfolk, Sussex, Arundel, Gardiner… Such powerful people, they could have flourished under the rule of a wise, capable monarch that Elizabeth was becoming, but instead they chose the path of treason that brought them to the headsman's block. What a waste… Walsingham threw the paper on the table. He stood up and stretched.

Standing in his study, he thought of what to do next. Without a doubt, he felt tired, but he knew only too well that once his head would touch the pillow, he would lie in the darkness of his bedroom for hours, unable to sleep. There was, however, one remedy that always worked without fail, and as appalling as it was, he had no choice. Walsingham sighed and headed for the door.

Coming out of his study, he crossed his sitting room and strolled through the entrance hall. A tall youth, Walsingham's servant, raised noiselessly from his chair, ready to follow. With a brisk gesture of his hand, Walsingham told the boy to remain where he was and exited his quarters. Quiet as a shadow, the lanky figure resumed its place.

Queen Elizabeth chose to keep her spymaster as close to her as she could, therefore granting him residence in one of the largest living quarters the Palace of Whitehall had to offer. Usually, Sir Walsingham spent his time either here, or if the state of the matters allowed, in his house in Greater London. One differed little from the other, since both living arrangements shared one common denominator: loneliness.

Lady Ursula Walsingham, who cared very little for busy life of London and even less for him, preferred to reside in the large estate they owned in Hampshire. In her absence Sir Francis, just like any other man faced with such difficulty, was forced to seek comfort elsewhere. It proved to be rather difficult. As an intelligent, well-read, worldly person, Walsingham tried to find a companion to match him. This endeavor was one of the scarce few in which he had failed, for ladies of the court cared little for philosophers and logic, their minds otherwise occupied with latest fashions and gossip. Another reason was that due to the nature of his duties, it was important for him to remain unattached. Consequently, Walsingham had wisely decided that it would be best to remain satisfied with what he already had instead of lamenting for what he could have had. As the result, his romantic encounters with women were plentiful, but always cut very short and to the point. He did not even allow them to stay overnight.

Underway through the cavernous halls of the palace, he reached into his pocket and procured a ring. It was a large, blood-red garnet set in gold. Walsingham slipped the ring on the middle finger of his left hand and continued on his way. The ring had a special purpose, for he only put it on when he was in need of a liaison. All he had to do was walk through the crowded halls, his left hand at his hip, presenting his garnet to clandestinely inform the ladies of the court that anyone who was willing was welcome to share his bed. He knew well that there was an abundance of female courtiers who waited eagerly for such an invitation. Such abundance, in fact, that he never yet remained without a companion when he desired one.

Walsingham walked on purposefully, sometimes stopping in his tracks to answer a greeting. While he walked, he heard giggling and whispers as women nudged each other, covertly pointing at his garnet ring. After visiting the main areas of assembly, he quickly returned to his quarters. The line was cast and now all he had to do was wait.

"Jerome?" he called out. His servant, a lanky, silvery-blond boy of fifteen, swiftly appeared, carrying a candle.

"Monsieur," Jerome said.

"Light the candles in the sitting room, will you?" Walsingham asked. "In the bedroom as well. Bring a bottle of Bordeaux and two glasses while you're at it. I am having company tonight."

"Oui, monsieur," Jerome said and disappeared into the darkness. Soon, the soft glow issuing from the sitting room announced that the candles were lit. When Walsingham entered, Jerome was closing the curtains on the windows.

Sir Francis met Jerome just before leaving France, when the little imp tried to pick his pocket. Rather than handing the young thief into the hands of the law, Walsingham decided to take the orphan into his service. Since then, the boy had proved to be a surprisingly capable servant. Jerome was truthful, prompt and, above all, loyal. He was among the very few people who had the spymaster's full trust.

Walsingham approached the table and pored himself a glass of wine. After, he settled comfortably in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. He took one sip of wine and stretched his legs, pensively studying the ruby liquid in the firelight. His thoughts were soon interrupted by a quiet knock on the door. He heard it squeak as Jerome, who once again had resumed his post by the door, let the woman inside. A moment later, the boy entered the sitting room.

"A lady eez 'ere to see you, Sir Francis," he said, bowing.

"Good," Walsingham replied. "Invite her in and make sure we are not disturbed. That would be all for today. You may go to bed, my boy."

"Merci très beaucoup. Bonne nuit, monsieur," Jerome bowed and walked out. Walsingham heard him say "Monsieur eez waiteeng for you, mademoiselle".

"Let's see what Lady Luck chose to bless us with tonight, shall we?" Walsingham muttered sardonically, getting up to receive his guest…

~o~