Her Last Assassin Read Online Free Page A

arms. I will be your general, judge, and rewarder of your virtues in the field.’
    One of the men in the fresh-dug trenches, his face hidden behind the raised pikes of the guards who had accompanied her to Tilbury, cried out, ‘Aye, there have been few enough rewards!’
    She shook her head, seeing Robert’s hasty movement, and held out a hand towards the unseen speaker. ‘Yes, I know you deserve rewards for your great love of England. And I assure you, in the word of a prince, those rewards shall be duly paid. In the meantime, my lieutenant general shall be here in my stead. Obey and follow him, for never did any prince command a more noble or worthy subject than the Earl of Leicester.’
    Elizabeth heard some dissent from further afield, and raised both hands, concerned not to let it grow into outright mutiny. These men were not trained soldiers but farmers, common yeomen, field labourers handed a mattock or a pike and told to stand their ground if the Spanish should land. Only a few squads of mercenaries were there to swell their ranks and show them how to fight for their country.
    There was sweat on her forehead, but her speech was nearly at an end. If she could not persuade them to do their queen loyal service, despite a lack of armaments and food, despite poor boots and having nowhere to sleep but under the stars, then England would be at an end.
    ‘I do not doubt that by your obedience to my general, and your valour in the field of battle, we shall win a famous victory over the Spanish and all those enemies of my God, my kingdom, and my people,’ she finished, crossing herself with a loud ‘Amen.’
    Leicester cheered and tossed up his cap, whereupon all his officers threw theirs into the hot blue sky, also cheering.
    Men knelt on all sides as she walked among them in the dazzling August sunshine, their helmets off, some bowing their heads in awe, others hoarsely crying, ‘God save Her Majesty!’
    Afterwards, she could not recall making her way back down the ranks amid the roaring cheers of the men, nor being led to Leicester’s tent in order to take lunch with him. But she remembered one bright-eyed man who reached out and dared to touch her armoured side in passing, with a bold cry of ‘God save the Queen!’
    As though afraid it was an attack by some Catholic fanatic, Leicester knocked the soldier aside like a fly, then called loudly for him to be restrained.
    Elizabeth stayed his hand, frowning. ‘Let him be, Robert. The man meant no harm.’
    Indeed, seeing the blind faith in the soldier’s face as he scrambled to his knees, staring after her, she thought he was like the man in the crowd who touched Jesus’ cloak in the belief that this contact alone would cure him. Except she was no saviour, Elizabeth thought wryly, offering up a silent prayer against hubris.
    Inside the cool shade of Robert’s suite of tents, set a little aside from the filth and squalor of the digging works, she was relieved to find a table and cushioned chairs set out for her in a civilized fashion, and several of her ladies waiting to attend her. Helena Snakenborg and Lucy Morgan were among those who had accompanied her from court, with fresh-faced young Bess Throckmorton behind them, still in training to be one of her maids of honour.
    ‘Ah, dear Helena,’ Elizabeth muttered, stripping off her gloves and holding out her hand to the Swedish-born noblewoman who had served her for so many years, ‘my fan, if you would. And a cup of ale before my thirst overcomes me. I am like to melt in this infernal heat.’
    While Robert and his men waited outside, she allowed the women to tidy her face and hair and remove the shining silver cuirass, for her back was now aching from its weight. With so many stout guards about these tents, she doubted it would be required to shield her anyway, its polished silver more a matter of show than protection. Robert had encouraged her to wear armour to address the troops, and she had readily agreed,