Courtiers lined the hallway, waiting for Elizabeth to emerge from her private chambers and proceed to the great dining hall. The high vaulted ceilings echoed with muttering. Where was she, some of them wondered aloud because they were hungry and they could not even go to the table until she arrived. This was also an advantageous spot to engage in their favorite pastime—gossip about court intrigue. Rodney tried to look inconspicuous as he stood behind two middle-aged courtiers who hadn’t fought in a battle in years and their midsections showed it.
“Where’s Sir Walter Billingsgate?” one of them whispered to the other. “I haven’t seen him in a fortnight.”
“Didn’t you hear?” The second gentleman’s eyes lit up as he saw an opportunity to spread the latest scandal.
“No.”
Rodney rolled his eyes. He had no patience for idle patter.
“Remember the queen’s reception for that prince from Denmark?” the second man began his story.
“Oh yes, the unpleasant fellow who dressed in black and was always mumbling to himself.”
“Well, Sir Walter made an unfortunate joke about killing his brother and marrying his brother’s wife,” the second man continued his story with gusto. “The Danish prince started a fight.”
“Yes, I remember. The queen was terribly put out that Sir Walter ruined her party.”
“Well,” the storyteller added with a snicker, “Sir Walter will never ruin another party again.” He dramatically moved his hand across his flabby neck.
Rodney began to rub his own neck as he recalled how he had pretty much ruined the queen’s reception that afternoon. Did the same fate await him? When the trumpets blasted to announce Elizabeth’s arrival, Rodney jumped so much, that the two gossiping courtiers turned to look at him. Rodney shrugged and giggled nervously.
“I always get excited when I see the Queen walk through the corridor.
Elizabeth’s grand promenade, with Robin properly a step behind, paused in front of Rodney, who broke out in a cold sweat.
“Rodney Broadshoulders,” she announced grimly, “come to my chambers immediately after supper.”
She and her entourage continued to the dining hall as the two courtiers turned to eye Rodney with apprehension. He unconsciously rubbed his throat again. Rodney hardly touched his food which was unusual for any male member of the Broadshoulders family who generally devoured their proteins with pronounced pleasure.
When Elizabeth and Robin left the banquet an hour later, Rodney tried to find a way to delay his date with destiny in the Queen’s private chambers. He attempted banter with the two gentlemen from the hallway, but sentences with more than two or three words were difficult for him. Eventually, he stood and walked to the door. Behind him he heard the men clucking in condolences. He knocked hesitantly at her Majesty’s door lightly, hoping they would not hear him. As luck would have it, a lady-in-waiting was waiting just inside the Queen’s chambers and flung open the door. He saw Elizabeth seated at her counsel table with Robin standing behind her. All sense of dignity escaped him as he rushed toward her, sliding on his knees to her feet.
“Oh, please, your Majesty,” he sputtered, “forgive me for speaking out of turn. I—I always open my foot and put my mouth in it.”
“Open your mouth and put your foot in it,” Robin corrected him.
“Please, Master Broadshoulders,” Elizabeth began wearily.
“But I didn’t mean to argue with you,” he babbled on. “I just lost my head—uh oh, poor choice of words.”
“Stand,” she ordered with gracious magnitude. “You are forgiven.”
“Oh thank, thank you, thank you.” Rodney kissed the hem of her gown.
“Stand!” she bellowed with such power that even Robin straightened his posture.
Rodney popped to his feet. “Yes, your Majesty!”
“Go to Spain incognito to discover the identity of the traitor in my court.”
“Go to Spain in what?” As pointed out earlier, Rodney, like most Broadshoulders men, was not good with words.
“Wear a disguise,” Robin prompted him.
“Return before the start of the invasion.” Elizabeth’s voice was tinged with impatience. “Now go!”
Rodney pointed out the door—(Author’s note: architectural historians hypothesize that the door to Elizabeth’s private chambers faced west, so Rodney actually pointed in the opposite direction of where he was headed. One must forgive his confusion at that moment, since he initially feared the Queen was going to have him beheaded.)—and proclaimed, “To France!”
“To Spain,” Robin corrected him, wagging his head.
“To Spain!”