"Keep M closed or the Virgin Mother be disposed. Hung be the one with a heretic's Tongue. Engender the faithful and be gone will be the Pretender. It is non-sense, Sir Francis," Elizabeth informed her spymaster and he took back the small note from which she had read the words.
"Aye, at first glance it is, Your Majesty," the dark clothed man replied and reread the words over again to himself. "But nonetheless it is evidence of yet another plot against us."
"It is always another plot with you. Can we not have one year without someone trying to take my throne or my life?" the Queen was exasperated and threw her hands in the air in frustration at the notion of another assassination plot.
"As much as I would like that myself, Majesty, I'm afraid it will not be so until you marry and produce an heir." Sir Francis Walsingham was right and that infuriated the Queen more, but she didn't let it show though another of her infamous tantrums. Instead she chose to walk across her bed chamber to sit down at her throne to pout. Sir Francis can't help but smile inwardly at how child-like the woman still was despite years of being a Queen. One would think that such responsibility would have matured her completely by now. But he knew better and preferred that she didn't lose that side of her personality. It is what set her apart from the nobles and men like him. It made her appear more like a person than a monarch, a person someone could relate to and look up to, like she understood her subjects and in the end it made her more loved and worshipped as the deity she posed to be in court.
"So what does it mean?"
"Literally?" He shrugged his shoulders in reply. "I don't know and won't know until I intercept and read more of the plotters messages. I do know for a fact that M represents my self."
"What brings you to that conclusion, my Moor?"
"You have just answered your own question, my Queen."
Her Moor smiled.