Текст книги "Queen of This Realm"
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
Соавторы: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 40 страниц)
Strangely enough I did not feel ill this time. They say that if one has had a disease once one becomes immune. One catches the disease, but it passes over lightly; and this was what it did in my case.
Before long I was well enough to rise and when I studied my face I could not find a single blemish.
Another fortunate escape!
La Mothe Fenelon came to me and I joked: “It may well be that when Monsieur le Duc comes he will be a little disappointed. Perhaps he would like to see me with just a few blemishes so that he could find me in a state not entirely dissimilar to his own.”
“Nay, Your Majesty,” he replied. “Monsieur will rejoice in the preservation of your unsurpassed beauty. Moreover Penna's medicines are having such an effect on the Duc that when you see him you will find the rumors of his disfigurement greatly exaggerated.”
“That will give me the utmost pleasure,” I replied, and I added that perhaps the Duc would like to pay a visit to the English Court. I was amused to see that La Mothe was evasive about this and I guessed it was due to the fact that he feared that if I saw the ugly little creature before a proxy marriage there would never be one in actual fact.
Shortly after he came to announce the birth of a daughter to the King of France. La Mothe was having a very uncomfortable time in England for he could not defend the action of his masters, try as he might, loyal creature that he was; and there was shock throughout the country when the news broke that two supporters of Admiral de Coligny had been executed in the Place de Gréve, and that the King, Catherine de' Medici and other members of the royal family had witnessed the execution which had taken place precisely as the Queen was giving birth to a child.
I was determined to let La Mothe know that I disapproved heartily of the callous behavior of his King and the Queen Mother. It would help me with my bargaining and dealing with the wily Catherine de' Medici, and I must not miss one advantage.
“His Majesty could not have wished more for the safe delivery of his child than I do,” I said with diplomatic exaggeration. I went on to say with even more hypocrisy that I could have wished the Queen might have given birth to a dauphin, but I was sure he was very happy with the Princess. I regretted, of course, I added, that her royal father had polluted the day by so sad a spectacle and that he had gone to see it in the Place de Gréve.
La Mothe Fenelon, struggling to retain his loyalty to a cause which he must have found abhorrent, agreed that it was a day in which happiness was mingled with evil. “My master was forced to witness the executions to follow the example of his great ancestors on such occasions,” he replied.
I nodded gravely and added that the state of affairs in France did cause me some concern; and I was very distressed to see action taken against people who practiced my religion.
La Mothe bowed his head and said that out of his great friendship for me, his King would be happy if I would act as godmother to the newly born infant.
I accepted graciously as there could be no possibility of my going myself and I should have to send someone in my place which was usual in such circumstances.
I then discussed with Cecil who could be sent. The obvious choice was Lady Lennox, but I was certainly not going to send her. Who knew what plots she would become embroiled in with the serpentine Queen Mother of France? She was the grandmother of the little Prince James of Scotland and schemes were undoubtedly going round and round in that head of hers, concerning the little Prince and his mother.
We decided that our best emissary on this occasion was William Somerset, the Earl of Worcester. He was a Catholic but a man whom we could trust. So off he went with the font of gold which was my gift as the godmother of the child.
I was seeing Robert almost every day. He was sure that, after the massacre, I could not marry into the House of France. One day his hopes would be high, and he would see himself beside me on the throne; on another he would seem to understand that there could never be a marriage… either with him or with any other. I was past my fortieth birthday. What would be the point in marrying now? I could have Robert at my side whenever I wished. I was in complete command. Why should I want to change that? Of course I never would. But I did like the process of wooing; I loved to see hopes rise, and sometimes I even deceived myself into thinking that I might give way. Courtship was to me one of the most exciting games to play. It kept alive the myth that I was beautiful and desirable beyond any living woman. It was a pleasant dream to live in and while those about me played the parts with such zeal they gave reality to the dream.
I was amused by Robert's jealousy; and I did have a tendency to favor young and handsome men because I liked good-looking people. I could not bear deformity; consequently a young man who was personable, could dance well and converse with grace always attracted my attention, and as I liked to have such people about me, I gave them posts which would keep them there.
Naturally, there was no one like my Master of Horse, but I liked to keep even him guessing whether or not he might be ousted from my favor by some newcomer.
Christopher Hatton remained in favor; so did Heneage. There was one young man who was really very attractive; he danced beautifully and his conversation was witty. He was not a clever man like Cecil or Walsingham, my Moor, who was now in Paris getting restive there, wanting to come home to his family. But for the moment I could not allow that. Too much was going on in France and I needed my master diplomat to make sure my affairs were well looked after. But those two and others were my Clever Men. Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford, was in the charming favorites category.
I had noticed Edward de Vere since he was twelve years old. That was when his father died and young Edward had become the Earl of Oxford. Because of his youth, a guardian had been found for him, and he had been put under the wardship of William Cecil; and as now and then I visited my chief minister, I saw the boy from time to time. Exceptionally handsome with a somewhat forceful personality, he caught my attention, and I expressed an interest in him from the first. He was a lively boy, wayward and reckless, and there was certain to be trouble where he was. When he was about seventeen he was involved in the death of one of the servants of the Cecil household—an undercook, I think. The man had offended him in some way and Oxford had hot-headedly run him through with his sword. The man had died and a great deal of manipulation was needed to extricate Oxford from serious trouble. Even noble earls were not permitted to murder the humblest servants. However, the jury was induced to bring in a verdict that the undercook had “run into the point of the Earl's sword”—thus making the verdict accidental death.
I daresay this was not good for my lord's character for he believed that he could act in whatsoever manner he wished and escape punishment.
A few days later he appeared at a special joust and so distinguished himself that I forgave him. He looked so handsome, so noble, as he faced his opponent; and he was romantically charming when he came to bow to me. He will think twice before he attacks his servants again, I tried to delude myself into believing.
The next event was his marriage to Cecil's daughter Anne. I suppose it was natural. They had been brought up in the same household and had grown very familiar with each other. I remarked to Cecil that it was the best basis for a happy marriage. I think Cecil was a little dubious, knowing the nature of the Earl, but I had no doubt that he was pleased to see his daughter marry into such a noble household.
Oxford was one of those young men who would always call attention to himself wherever he was and it was usually in the most outrageous manner. If only he had been content with his excellence at the joust and being a graceful addition to any social gathering! But he wanted to swagger on the stage at all times. He wanted all attention focused on him.
When Norfolk had been in the Tower, he had devised some harebrained scheme for rescuing him, Norfolk being distantly connected with him through a Lady Anne Howard who had married into the de Vere family. Naturally it had come to nothing and Oxford quarreled violently with his father-in-law, Cecil, because of this.
There was one thing which worried me. When he had been foiled and the attempted rescue of Norfolk shown as the immature plot it was, Oxford was so incensed that he swore revenge on Cecil.
Cecil told me this and shrugged his shoulders.
“He is a willful boy,” he said. “I know not what will become of him.”
“I like not those threats of vengeance on you,” I said.
“He is nothing but a foolish boy,” Cecil assured me.
And I was inclined to agree.
“He now wants to be taken into the Navy,” said Cecil.
“That shall not be,” I replied firmly. I had two reasons. One, he was too reckless and I was becoming more and more proud of my growing Navy; and the other was that I enjoyed his company at Court.
“I persuaded him that as he enjoys Your Majesty's favor he would probably do better to remain at Court.”
I nodded my approval.
But it was asking too much of a nature like Oxford's to live in peace with those around him. Very soon after that he was in conflict with another young man whom I admired.
This was Philip Sidney who had many talents to recommend him apart from the fact that he was the son of my dear Mary Sidney, whose nursing during my smallpox attack had cost her her good looks. I visited her frequently in her secluded apartments at Hampton Court, and I constantly let her know that I did not forget what she had done for my sake. So the fact that she was Philip's mother would alone have made me take a special interest in the boy. Moreover, he was Robert's nephew. Robert was very good to him in many ways, and Philip I believe looked on Robert as a kind of god. That pleased me. He was a very good-looking young man, somewhat serious, highly cultivated, and he wrote verse with a flow which I found most remarkable. Mary had shown me some of his writings with great pride—so he was a young man in whom I took a particular interest.
Oxford knew of my regard for him and was jealous of it; but his real enmity, I imagined, was directed against Robert, so he struck at him through young Sidney. Even such a rash young man as Oxford would scarcely dare challenge Robert himself.
The incident took place on one of the tennis courts where Sidney was enjoying a game with a friend. Oxford came along and, deciding he wished to play, ordered Sidney and his friend to leave the court free for him.
Sidney naturally retorted: “Why should I? You must wait until the game is finished.”
“Don't be insolent, you puppy,” cried Oxford; at which Philip Sidney was incensed and there on the spot challenged Oxford to a duel.
Fortunately I was informed of this proposition and I was furiously angry. Dueling was against the law, and in any case I did not want any of my people killed in senseless quarrels—particularly two young men who graced my Court and pleased me with their presence.
I sent for Philip Sidney and demanded to know what he meant by chal– lenging the Earl of Oxford to a duel. He replied that Oxford had insulted him and his father by calling him a puppy and so implying that his father was a dog.
“Such folly!” I cried. “And over the use of a tennis court, I understand. That there should be such fools in my kingdom, I can scarcely believe. So you, my young coxcomb, would shed blood, would you, because of the rash words of another?”
“I would bear no insult, Your Majesty.”
“Oh, would you not?” I said. “Would you rather bear your Sovereign's wrath? You should know, little boy, that if you are to stay at my Court, you must show proper respect to noblemen. You have dared challenge a noble earl!”
“Your Majesty, may I respectfully point out that the rights of men come before the rights of noblemen. Your noble father supported the rights of the common man against the aristocracy when he believed it was just to do so.”
“You give a good account of yourself,” I said. “Remember this: I could send you to the Tower for challenging a noble earl, but there are members of your family who are very dear to me. Do not take advantage of this. There shall be no duel. Understand that. Now you may go. I shall be lenient with you this time—but remember.”
When he left me I was smiling. He really was a very charming fellow. He was not quite twenty years of age. Oxford was about four years older and I was certain Oxford had picked the quarrel with him because he was Robert's favorite nephew. These jealous men! I thought indulgently. But I was a little alarmed, for Philip Sidney had aroused Oxford's enmity and I believed the latter might be very irresponsible. I should hate anything to happen to increase Mary Sidney's anxieties for I knew how she doted on her son.
I suggested to Robert that such a cultivated young man should have the opportunity of foreign travel, and he agreed that he should go to Venice, where he could study Italian literature, astronomy and music.
I felt happier when young Sidney was safely out of the country.
Catherine de' Medici was working indefatigably to bring about my marriage to Alenon, and her special envoys were urging me persistently. They told me that the young Duc was madly in love with me. I pretended to be gratified. I was sure they thought me a vain and simpering woman, which was what I wanted them to believe, for the longer these negotiations went on, the better. How little they knew me!
I was fully aware that Catherine was eager for the marriage to take place before I saw her son, which confirmed all the stories I had heard of his unprepossessing appearance. Finally, however, she seemed to give way, and word was sent to me that King Charles would come to the coast of France with his brother whom he would send over to Dover that I might meet him.
This alarmed me a little. Perhaps the Duc was not so unprepossessing after all. What would the people say if they thought I was seriously considering marrying a prince whose brother was responsible for that terrible massacre on St Bartholomew's Eve?
Since I had sought the meeting, it was not easy to evade it, but I did so by adopting one of my coy maidenly attitudes. I replied that it was too decisive a step to be undertaken at this stage and not in keeping with my virgin state.
I could imagine Catherine's fury against me, but that lady should have realized by now that she was dealing with one as devious as herself!
I was saved from having to make a clear decision by events in France. Charles was a dying man; he had never really recovered from that awful night of slaughter and had been ailing ever since. He had always been a weakling physically as well as mentally, and it was obvious that he had not long to live.
His brother, the Duc d'Anjou, next in line to the succession, had become King of Poland, so he was far away. That must have given my little Alenon ideas. He was an ambitious gentleman, I will say that for him. He was always ready to take advantage of a situation. Of course, there was now great bitterness throughout France between Huguenots and Catholics, and Alenon decided that with his eldest brother in sight of death and his brother Anjou away in Poland, he had a good chance of coming to the throne himself.
He schemed with two noblemen, Mole and Coconnas, to seize the throne on the death of the King and consolidate himself there before the return of Anjou from Poland.
It was hardly likely that he would be able to succeed, for Catherine de' Medici was watchful on behalf of Anjou, who, it was said, was the only person she had ever loved; and very soon my little Prince's schemes were discovered by his mother. I heard that some sources in France suggested that I was involved in the plot. That was entirely untrue.
However, Alenon did not hesitate to betray his allies when the plot was discovered and they went to the scaffold.
In the midst of this Charles died. Anjou was proclaimed Henri III while Alenon took the title of Anjou as the new King's younger brother.
Denied the crown of France, Alenon—now Anjou—again turned his eyes back to England. I was amused for the situation was becoming really intriguing. I remembered that the new King had at one time been a suitor of mine and I wondered if he might renew the courtship now that he was King of France.
There was a certain irritation at home. I had suffered so much from the pretensions of Mary Stuart that I was especially sensitive about the actions of those claiming to have royal blood. Therefore I was much disconcerted when I heard of the marriage between Elizabeth Cavendish and Charles Lennox. These two young people had the most scheming mothers in the country. Charles was the son of the Countess of Lennox, Darnley's mother; she had already shown her ambition through her eldest son. And now she had married the younger, Charles, to the daughter of the Countess of Shrewsbury. I knew that lady very well. She was called Bess of Hardwick, being the daughter of John Hardwick in Derbyshire. She had only been married to Shrewsbury for a short time, but she had quickly shown that foolish man who was the master of the household. She had had three husbands—all wealthy—and had seen each of them out of this life after they had left her with their worldly goods. Bess had made sure of that.
Perhaps it had been wrong to put Mary Stuart into the charge of the Shrewsburys, but I had felt that Bess of Hardwick would make sure that a firm hand was kept on Mary and prevent her from trying her wiles on Shrewsbury, which was what I imagine she did with some of her jailers. None of them seemed entirely immune.
However what had resulted instead was a match—aided and abetted by Mary Stuart I gathered—and now Charles Stuart was married to Bess of Hardwick's daughter, and these ambitious ladies were already looking forward to offspring who would have a claim to the throne.
I flew into a rage when I heard this and Cecil had a hard task restraining me. “They have been intriguing at Sheffield Castle,” I cried. “Imagine them! The three witches! Getting their heads together… Mary Stuart urging them on, reminding them of the Stuart pretensions to the throne. I shall throw the three witches and the happy married pair into the Tower.”
“Your Majesty could hardly imprison Mary Stuart for approving of the match.”
For a few minutes I would not listen to Cecil and, knowing me, he let me rage on.
“To bring the Queen of Scots to the Tower would be dangerous,” he continued eventually. “There might be an attempt to rescue her on the way there; and the cause would scarcely be considered just. She would become a martyr and you well know the people's feelings for such.”
Of course he was right.
But those women had arranged this marriage without my permission.
“Ah, there we have a point,” said Cecil. “Charles, being of royal Stuart blood, should have asked permission before marrying, and failing to do this has broken the law.”
That was good enough. Very soon I had those two energetic countesses in the Tower.
But all this was very disturbing, bringing home to me again the uneasiness of royalty, particularly that of a House which many must still believe had come to the throne not through the straight line of succession. There had been three generations of sovereign Tudors by now, but can one ever be completely safe? Even my father had had to make sure that those who might lay claim by blood to the throne were put out of the way.
That set me brooding on Mary Stuart. There would never be real peace in my life while she lived.
A further cause for annoyance was that, on his way home from Poland to France, Henri III had met and fallen in love with Louise of Lorraine whom he insisted on marrying. What was particularly galling was that La Mothe, I discovered later, had been instructed to keep the news from me as long as possible. I always felt piqued when a one-time suitor married. I wanted them to be like Robert and go on sighing for the impossible forever.
I pretended that my anger was because Henri had married a member of the House of Guise, which had always been my enemy and with whom Mary Stuart had close connections, her mother being one of them.
Then I heard that Catherine de' Medici and her Court had been amused by the action of dwarfs who had been dressed up to look like my father and myself and the Earl of Leicester. I could imagine what ribaldry had been intended; and I saw no reason for not giving expression to my indignation. I let La Mothe know of it, pointing out to him that if the courtiers of France wished to make fun of any they might first start in their own Court.
However, Catherine was still anxious to preserve good relations. She must still have hopes for the newly created Duc d'Anjou, for she sent placating letters. I was assured that the dwarfs who had taken part in the masquerade were all very pretty and the scene had much charm and had been carried out with the impeccable taste due to persons of distinction. If any offense had been taken, it must have been because of my Ambassador's imperfect knowledge of the French language.
I did not believe it, and I continued to show my displeasure.
All the same, negotiations for a marriage with my little French Prince were not broken off.
