Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the national personification of Spain, mirrored his country in almost every way. He was sunny and warm for the vast majority of the time with a laid-back, easy manner that had a way of infecting even the most serious of his companions. From the moment you met Antonio, he was your best friend. This, perhaps, was why Arthur marvelled at his talent for writing such wonderfully passive-aggressive letters.
Really, though, it was marvellous. Perhaps it was the casual, friendly language juxtaposed against the subtle implications that he was an incorrigible heretic destined for hellfire that raised his hackles so, or perhaps it was the multiple nostalgic references to Mary Tudor, whom Antonio had been rather fond of, not least because she gave herself willingly over to be manipulated by him and his King.
Arthur read the letter with the slightest quirk of a sarcastic smile. He had finished scanning the final lines and placed it on the desk in front of him, his mind already working furiously on composing a suitably cutting response, when the door to his office flew open and Elizabeth hurried inside, pursued by one of her handmaidens.
"Your Highness, Lord Dudley sends word that the tournament decorations are-"
"Yes, yes," she said impatiently. "You tell Dudley he can seek me out himself instead of sending messengers chasing me all over the palace. Go!" She shooed the girl out of the office and shut the door, then closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.
"You shouldn't take so much of the responsibility for this ball's organisation upon yourself," he observed, watching her as she composed herself. "You have servants for this. I'm sure they'd be more than happy to arrange everything for you."
"No," she said. "No, I enjoy it. It is perfectly pointless and shallow, and I have precious little pointless, shallow things to worry about these days. Sometimes I feel as though trade and diplomacy and internal affairs are all I think about now."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, which was not a feat to be easily ignored. "All you think about?"
She seemed to soften slightly. Her tight-lipped, serious expression broke into a smile that seemed to travel through his entire body like a warm drink on a cold day, relaxing each of his muscles one by one, stretching from the vertebrae of his spine to the very tips of his fingers. "Perhaps not all I think about. But more than is entirely healthy, I'm sure. But Arthur," she said, returning at once to her businesslike manner, "I need to ask you something."
He sat back in his chair and laced his fingers together on his lap. "And that would be...?"
"Do you know anyone who can ship fifty sheep in from Wales in time for the ball? It's in four days' time, but if the cooks are to have adequate time to slaughter and prepare them then we shall have to say three."
Arthur blinked at her. "From Wales?"
"I have been told that the best sheep are reared there." She folded her arms, waiting. "Well? Do you?"
He sighed deeply and rested his elbows on his desk, massaging his temples. He could feel a headache coming on. "Haven't you left this a bit late? How are we supposed to get fifty sheep from Wales to London in three days?"
"They can travel by river," she explained, as though this were quite obvious. "Barges are fast, are they not?"
"Elizabeth, rivers are not magical. We would need to send a messenger, allow time for the sheep to be selected and herded onto barges and then more time again for them to travel all the way back here. And the Thames does not even flow to Wales. They would need to undertake significant parts of the journey on foot. There's no way anyone could do that in three days, especially not with fifty sheep to herd."
Her face fell. "Really?"
"Yes, really."
"Oh. I thought... I had been led to believe..." She sighed deeply and collapsed onto a chair next to his desk in a cloud of silk skirts. "I did not know. I have never been on a boat before."
It took Arthur a moment or two to comprehend quite what she had said. "Excuse me?"
"I've never been on a boat before," she repeated. "I've travelled, of course, but always by horse and carriage, never by barge."
Now it was his turn to take a few long, deep breaths. This was an unacceptable situation. Absolutely unacceptable. And like any unacceptable situation he found himself in, he was going to remedy it. "Go and change out of that dress."
She stared at him, affronted. "Go and what?"
"Put some peasant clothes on. We're leaving the palace and I don't much fancy being swarmed by admirers, do you?"
An hour later, they were walking briskly through the streets of London. The day had not been unpleasant, but it was late afternoon and the sun's warmth was quickly fading. The city was filled with its usual noise and bustle, if a little muted as the day's energy leaked slowly towards the horizon along with the light. Sunset had not properly begun yet, but the streets were not half so busy as they were at morning and midday and the various shops and stalls throughout the city were beginning to ready themselves for closure. It was not the perfect time for exploration, but it suited Arthur perfectly well.
They had passed the front gates of Hampton Court mostly unmolested. The guards had raised a fuss, but then they always did. They could make as much trouble as they pleased for Arthur alone, but they never dared to think they could keep Elizabeth anywhere she did not want to be whether it was safer for her or not. While her reign was not yet scarred by the disciplinary methods that made her immediate predecessors infamous, no-one was willing to take the slightest chance with the newest Tudor on the throne.
It took them only a few minutes to reach the Thames. The water lapped lazily at the stone banks, reflecting the grey-blue sky, smooth for want of wind. Elizabeth wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders and gave a deliberately pronounced shiver as the cold air from the river's surface reached them. "Get on with it, then," she snapped. "Whatever you intend to do, do it quickly."
"Whatever you say, Your Highness," he replied sarcastically, scanning the stone riverbank. It was quite remarkable how royal she still managed to look, despite being clad in nothing but a plain woollen dress and shawl. It had not been easy to find, either; the Queen's wardrobe did not traditionally contain commoners' clothes. She had had to repurpose a winter nightshift for this outing and was not happy about it.
Arthur saw it. A boat moored to the riverbank not far away. It was a small wooden affair with two oars and space enough for two people. He took Elizabeth's hand and led her towards it, taking stock of the boat's owner. He was an old man, tough-looking and grizzled, sitting by the bank and painstakingly checking the rope mooring the boat, and he looked up as they approached.
"Aye? What do ye want?"
Elizabeth, unused to being spoken to like this, swelled beside him; Arthur spoke quickly, falling back to a working class Londoner accent in an attempt to put the man at his ease. "We'd like to borrow your boat, sir."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"For sailing."
"You shock me," he deadpanned. "Why should I lend you my boat? She's my livelihood, this one. More'n my life's worth to lose her."
Arthur groaned inwardly. This man was not making it easy. He would've bribed him, but he hadn't expected to need money and had left everything behind at the palace. "Please, sir."
"No." The man turned away, ignoring them.
Arthur sighed and changed his accent again, this time making it as educated, aristocratic and authoritative as he could manage. "Sir, it really would be in your best interest to stand aside. We are on royal business."
Outrage was burning in his voice as he threw the rope down and spun back to them, fists balled. "On royal business, are ye? Need my rickety little boat for affairs o' state or some shit? Who do ye think ye are, the bloody Queen of England?"
This time it was Elizabeth who spoke. She seemed to grow taller, looking down on him despite being a good foot shorter. Her eyes seemed brighter, her hair a deeper, more brilliant red, and her face bore a more dangerous, regal expression than Arthur had ever seen on it before. It almost frightened him, but he was nothing compared to the old man. Confusion flickered across his face, then disbelief, and Arthur wondered if he had been present at her coronation parade mere months previously. His suspicions were confirmed as recognition exploded across his expression like gunpowder. "No," she said imperiously, "but I am."
Less than five minutes later, Arthur and Elizabeth were sitting in the little fishing boat and bobbing gently in the middle of the Thames. He was beginning to wish he'd thought of a way of commandeering a more impressive vessel; this boat, although sturdy and well-made for its humble purpose, was hardly fit for someone of her status. But, despite Arthur's misgivings, she seemed to be enjoying herself thoroughly.
"It feels awfully odd," she said, rocking backwards and forwards with the gentle ripples on the surface of the water. "Not at all like solid ground. Does it not make you sick after a while?"
"If you aren't used to it. Some new sailors can get quite ill on their first voyage. But it's like riding a horse; once you're used to it, the old aches and pains cease to bother you."
"And how many times have you been on a boat?" she asked.
He gave this some thought. "I don't know. Many times. I spent a great deal of time at sea while Mary was on the throne, and I saw your father scarcely more in the later years of his reign."
"Where did you go?"
Arthur smiled. He greatly enjoyed narrating his maritime exploits, but he suspected not nearly so many people enjoyed listening to him. "Far and wide, Elizabeth. Down past the Spanish coast and through the Mediterannean, all the way to Alexandria and Damascus. I have navigated Africa and continued on to the mysterious lands of the Orient. I have sailed to the Caribbean and the New World, and-"
Elizabeth was leaning her elbows on the side of the boat and staring at the horizon, her eyes glazed in a way that told him she was no longer listening. He fully intended to press the point - she had asked him, after all - but then followed her eyes and decided to leave it for later. The sun had just touched the waterline and dipped below, casting the pale sky in shades of gold finer than the Crown Jewels and red almost as bright as the hair it was silhouetting. The water reflected the colours like a mirror, creating a near-perfect symmetry framed by the shadowy city. The light played with her eyelashes and the curls of her hair and reflected in her brown eyes, as wide and delighted as a child's.
"I do like this sailing business," she said, turning back to him with a grin almost giddy with innocent joy. "I shall have to try it more often. I cannot go exploring like you, of course, but perhaps I can travel by barge when I need to move palace?"
"That sounds like a fine idea." It was strange how he could exist for over a thousand years, see countless wonders and meet countless people, and yet nothing more than a sunset and a smile could make him happier than he could comprehend.
"But you cannot go off on any more expeditions for a long time. Swear it to me."
"Why?"
"Because I do not want you to leave," she said simply, as though this was obvious. "We rule together, Queen and country. I cannot imagine the palace without you. I do not want to imagine the palace without you. If you left... if you went sailing off to some far corner of the world... I would miss you very much."
She had said all this with an expression of such forced regality that Arthur could not help but laugh. He leant forwards and kissed her soundly. "I won't leave," he said, once they had drawn apart. "I have far more reason to stay. And I believe I would miss you very much too, Elizabeth. Sailing is a lonely affair."
"You must promise me," she said urgently, grasping his hand as though worried he was about to take the fishing boat and row off into the sunset for good.
"I promise you," he said, with as much sincerity as he could muster.
As soon as the words had left his mouth, her face broke into another smile infinintely more dazzling than the sunset behind her. He was still somewhat dazed as she kissed him again, pouring out her relief and happiness and gratitude. He buried his hands in her hair and tried to show with actions what he would never be eloquent enough to say with words, that he had no intention of leaving and would always be there, always, he would never dream of leaving her alone. There were a hundred unspoken promises in that one kiss, a great deal of hope and perhaps a tiny bit of uncertainty, but mostly, it was love. All-encompassing, blazing, overwhelming love, burning as brightly as the sun that was now sinking ever deeper below the horizon.
