A week later Charnock’s shadow fell over Henry again, while he sat reading in the library under the Bookbinders guild. Henry flinched. But when he looked up, the bearded swordmaster’s expression was one of concern, and perhaps a small amount of amusement. “Here boy, Byford wants to speak to you.” He put a hand on Henry’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing bad. Or at least nothing that bad.”

Henry stood, and followed Charnock up, and then through the busy London streets back to the Taylor’s guild. They found Byford in his study in the upper part of the guild. Charnock guided Henry into the room, and then left, shutting the door behind him.

Byford sat at a scribes desk, writing what looked to be a letter. He referred frequently to a small leather-bound book, substituting words, and making small symbols in the margins. He glanced up, and smiled, made a small gesture for Henry to sit, then finished what he was doing while Henry waited.

Once he was done, he set down his quill and left the letter to dry. The cypher book went in a small locked drawer, and Byford stood, wiping his hands on a cloth. “I wanted to let you know that you will be accompanying me tonight to court. We try to introduce any of our apprentices who have good breeding and manners, as they might be called upon later to work closely with officers of the Crown.”

Henry’s eyes widened, and he went cold with shock. “Court? Me?”

Byford grinned at his discomfort. “Yes, Henry. You. All of our new apprentices are presented to the Privy Council for approval. It is a formality, part of our arrangement with the Crown. Usually it is a private affair, but for you and Thomas we will be taking a different tack.” He swept Henry around, and planted him gently in one of the high-backed chairs that littered the room, then sat opposite him. “You may have been in the wilderness for some time, but you still look and speak the part of a young gentleman. Your duties may give you cause to move in those circles, so early exposure is usually best.”

Henry squirmed with discomfort, then hid his face in his hands. Bad memories surfaced, and he fought to control his breathing.

Byford got up again, crossed the room and clapped Henry on the back. “Calm down boy, it won’t be the full snake-pit. Just a small gathering of the Privy Council and a minimum of hangers-on, and only the Queen and her spymaster Sir Walsingham will know you as anything more than a provincial young relative of mine. You shouldn’t be required to speak, only to observe, and be observed.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of primping and costumery, with Byford grilling him on etiquette and polishing out the coarse edges that Henry had developed in the orphanage and the slums. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of Richmond Palace with Thomas and Byford as their carriage pulled away.

Henry felt ridiculous, but both Thomas and Byford seemed to be in their element, their body language cool and confident, clearly comfortable in their rich clothes. The outfits were a step up even from the fancy clothes that Henry had become used to since arriving at the guild, brocade fabrics with real gold thread and imported red velvet. All three wore ruffs made from yards and yards of hand-tatted lace, gathered and starched into a wide disc as if offering their heads on a platter.

Henry followed the others up the steps, past rows of bowing servants and battle-scarred Yeomen armed with halberds. As they passed various rooms, groups of nobility could be seen through open doors, drinking and laughing. As they neared the Queen’s salon even the corridors filled up with nobles as they jockeyed with one another. The entire palace had a festive air, but there was an undercurrent of tension. This was a battleground of a sort, and one that Henry felt ill-prepared for. He concentrated on keeping his breathing calm; on keeping his face bland and uninterested; on arranging his hands just so; on not tripping over his sword, and tried to ignore how Thomas seemed to take it all in his stride.

They came to a last set of double doors, with two Yeomen of the Guard standing on either side and a bored looking nobleman. Henry recognised him from the woodcut portraits he had seen during his lessons at the Guild. Sir Francis Walsingham, the Queen’s secretary and spymaster.

Walsingham had a long face, and hooded eyes that made him look perpetually disinterested. His hair was short-cropped and going grey at the temples, and his clothing conservative. He lifted his chin as Byford approached, acknowledging him with a brief bow.

“Sir Byford. You have brought your new protege I see.”

“Yes, my two most promising students. I am sure that her majesty will be pleased with them.”

The spymaster’s eyes narrowed as he studied Henry and Thomas in turn. Even Thomas seemed to wilt under the scrutiny. “I certainly hope so. We are in need of good news. Follow me. I will announce you myself.”

Walsingham swept through the doors, and Byford followed on his heels. Thomas and Henry both looked at each other, and for the first time Henry saw through the walls and into Thomas’ own insecurity. The other boy was terrified.

They followed after a moment, and entered a room full of the most powerful people in the kingdom. Quiet conversations were taking place all around them, but all conversation stopped as Walsingham cleared his throat.

Walsingham’s voice filled the room, ringing with authority. “Your majesty, may I present Sir James Byford, and wards.”

A corridor of space cleared almost instantly as the crowd split in two, and Henry got his first look at the Queen.

Queen Elizabeth the First was a tall, thin woman in her late forties. She wore a wig which made her seem even taller, and as she turned to regard their little group he saw her cheeks were scarred by pox. Her dress was enormous and ostentatious, white silk decorated with gold, lace so fine it looked like plumes of seafoam pouring from her sleeves, and her jewelry almost blinding in its quantity. She was wearing enough gold to feed all of London for a year, let alone all the rest, but her fingernails were bitten to the quicks and her gaze was incisive and shrewd.

“Sir Byford, you return at last. I see you have your young wards with you. Bring them forward, I would see them close-to.”

Byford bowed deeply. “Of course, your majesty.” He put a hand on each of their shoulders, and steered Thomas and Henry down the aisle towards the Queen, only stopping a couple of meters away, before bowing again.

Thomas followed suit immediately, and Henry an awkward half-second later. The Queen watched it all with a twinkle of cruel amusement, but nodded as if satisfied. “These boys, you are satisfied with them?”

Byford looked down for a moment, but then lifted his chin and gazed directly at the Queen. “I am. They have come a long way in little time.”

“Good. See to it that they do not disappoint Us.” And she smiled. Her teeth were black, but not the black of rot as Henry had read in some of the less complementary pamphlets he had seen. Instead, her teeth were the pearlescent black of haematite. That done, she looked away as if they had ceased to exist. Byford bowed again, and withdrew, dragging Thomas and Henry with him. Walsingham however stayed behind, following the Queen as she circulated, both of them quickly obscured as the crowds of nobles re-converged like the tide coming in.