Drake pulled a grimace. "Ay, marry, we know he'd be glad enough to send a spy into Spain. Beshrew your heart, Nick, it's madness! Do you hold your life of so mean account?" "Nay, but it's charmed. Yourself said so, Drake. Where lies the Court?" "At Westminster." "Then I'm for Westminster to-morrow," said Sir Nicholas. He came to the palace in the forenoon of the next day, very bravely tricked out in a slashed doublet, scented with musk, and his beard fresh trimmed. He had a cloak of the Burgundian cut aswirl from his shoulders, and caught up carelessly over one arm. It was not difficult to gain access to the palace, especially for Sir Nicholas Beauvallet, who was known to be a favourite with the Queen's Grace. She had always a soft corner in her heart for a handsome dare-devil. Sir Nicholas reached, without difficulty, one of the Long Galleries to which he had been directed. Some of the Queen's ladies were gathered here, and many of the court gallants. He learned that the Queen was closeted with the French Ambassador, Sir Francis Walsingham and Sir James Crofts in attendance. This he had from the Vice-Chancellor, Sir Christopher Hatton, strutting in the gallery. Hatton gave him a cool, polite greeting, and two fingers to do what he willed with. Beauvallet let them fall soon enough, and fell into talk with the elegant and grave Raleigh, also waiting for her Grace to come into the gallery. Sir Christopher rolled a fiery eye, and seemed to withdraw the hem of his garment from Raleigh's vicinity. At that Sir Nicholas grinned openly. Sir Christopher's jealousies seemed to him absurd. He had to wait perhaps half an hour, but he employed his time pleasantly enough, and very soon drew a shocked titter from one of the Maids of Honour, who rated him for a bold, saucy fellow. This he certainly was. There came a stir at the far end of the gallery; a curtain was held back, and four people came slowly into the gallery. First of these was the Queen, a thin lady of no more than middle-height, but mounted on very high heels. A huge ruff, spangled with gems, rose behind her head, which was of fiery colour, much crimped and curled, and elaborately dressed with jewelled combs, and the like. Still more monstrous loomed her farthingale, and her sleeves were puffed out from her arms, and sewn over with jewels. She was dazzling to behold, arrayed in the richest stuffs, glinting with precious stones. She drew all eyes, but she would still have done so had she been dressed in the simplest fustian. Her face might have been a mask for the paint that covered it, but her eyes were very much alive: strange, dark eyes, not large, but very bright, and oddly piercing.