Tudor adventurer, courtier, explorer and poet, Sir Walter
Raleigh has been called the last true Elizabethan.
He didn’t dance or joust, didn’t come from a noble family, or
marry into one. So how did an impoverished law student become a favourite of
the queen, and Captain of the Guard?
The story which began with the best-selling Tudor trilogy
follows Walter Raleigh from his first days at the Elizabethan Court to the end
of the Tudor dynasty.
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EXCERPT
Durham House, London, May
1583
I could list a dozen reasons not to fall for Elizabeth
Knollys, Lady Leighton. As a gentlewoman of the privy chamber, under the
judgemental glare of the queen, her conduct had to be exemplary. Lady Leighton
was also married – to Sir Thomas Leighton, Governor of Guernsey – and was a
cousin, once removed, of the queen.
With a jolt, I realised why I couldn’t deny my
feelings for her. Elizabeth Leighton was the embodiment of Queen Elizabeth as
she could have been at my own age. Her lustrous golden-red hair was her own,
her pale skin smooth and perfect. Her eyes regarded me not with fierce power,
but with what I hoped was admiration, even longing.
‘You don’t dance, Master Raleigh?’ She’d found me
watching the capering courtiers at the May Day celebrations at Greenwich
Palace. The musicians played loudly, and she moved so close I could breathe in
the scent of her perfume, delicate and sensual. Intoxicating.
‘I never learned to dance, my lady, and have no
regrets.’ I sensed her gentle warmth as our thighs touched, and was filled with
half-forgotten feelings.
She smiled, revealing perfect teeth. ‘No regrets?’ She
turned to watch the laughing dancers, most of whom looked as if they’d enjoyed
a little too much wine. ‘How I wish I could say the same.’
The unexpected sadness in her voice surprised me. ‘I
was only talking about not learning to dance, my lady. I regret many things.
I’ve passed thirty, and have no wife or children. I don’t even have a proper
title.’
‘I regret marrying a man I rarely see, nineteen years
my senior.’ Her hand brushed my thigh as if by accident, sending a frisson of
arousal through my body. ‘My greatest regret is having no time for my two daughters,
who barely know me.’
We were breaking the strictest rules of court, in such
a public place. I’d not forgotten Alice’s warning about the ladies of the
queen’s bedchamber. Be wary of them, Captain Raleigh, lest they harm you with
their gossip. I’d been lonely since she’d left, and longed to take Lady
Elizabeth Leighton in my arms.
If destiny brought us together most days in the privy
chamber, it was adventure that drove my reckless feelings. I missed the sense
of ever-present danger in Ireland, and had almost forgotten the rebellious man
I’d been in my youth.
I lay awake at night dreaming of her, reliving every
moment with her at the May dance. I heard the unmistakeable invitation in her
words, and saw the glint of promise in her amber eyes. It would be madness to
pursue her, a great risk to my reputation – and hers – yet I couldn’t put her
from my mind.
She’d worn a jewelled pendant at her breast, in the
form of a dove and serpent. I knew them as the emblems of mildness and
prudence, yet in my daydreams I wondered if she was a dove, and I the snake who
threatened our futures with temptation to taste the forbidden fruit.
I rose at first light to capture the lines of the
verse that kept me restless in my bed. I shivered in my nightshirt as I sat
close to the window overlooking the grey river, changing and crossing out words
until I was satisfied.
Lady,
farewell, whom I in silence serve.
Would
God thou knewst the depth of my desire,
Then
might I hope, though naught I can deserve,
Some
drop of grace would quench my scorching fire.
But
as to love unknown I have decreed,
So
spare to speak doth often spare to speed.
Yet
better ’twere that I in woe should waste
Than
sue for grace and pity in despite,
And
though I see in thee such pleasure placed
That
feeds my joy and breeds my chief delight,
Withal
I see a chaste consent disdain
Their
suits which seek to win thy will again.
Then,
farewell! Hope and help to each man’s harm!
I read my words aloud, sure no servants would hear my
voice so early in the day. I had to say farewell, as there could be no future
for us in this world. My intent was honourable – to end our liaison before it
began. Yet some faint glimmer of hope and longing made me add a final verse.
The
wind of woe hath torn my tree of trust,
Care
quenched the coals which did my fancy warm,
And
all my help lies buried in the dust.
But
yet, amongst those cares which cross my rest,
This
comfort grows, I think I love thee best.
Tony Riches
Tony Riches is a full-time UK author of best-selling historical
fiction. He lives in Pembrokeshire, West Wales and is a specialist in the lives
of the Tudors. He also runs the popular ‘Stories
of the Tudors’ podcast,
and posts book reviews, author interviews and guest posts at his blog, The Writing
Desk. For more
information about Tony’s
books please visit his website tonyriches.com and find him on Facebook and Twitter @tonyriches
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