Текст книги "Queen of This Realm"
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
Соавторы: Jean Plaidy
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Anjou and I walked a few paces ahead with Robert and Walsingham behind when Mauvissiére the French Ambassador came in unannounced. He made his way straight to me and said that he had orders from the King of France that he must without delay have a statement from me as to whether or not I intended to marry the Duc d'Anjou.
Here was a difficulty. What could I say? It was a matter of yes or no; and I was not yet ready for a no.
So I replied in the only way possible. I said: “You may write and tell this to the King: The Duc shall be my husband.”
Then I turned to my little Prince and kissed him on the mouth, and taking a ring from my finger I put it on his.
Anjou was overcome with joy. He immediately took a ring from his finger and put it on mine.
We had plighted our troth.
“Come with me,” I said, and I led him from the gallery to a chamber in which many of my courtiers were gathered. I told them in a voice which was audible throughout the room what had taken place.
The news spread rapidly. There was to be a marriage.
ROBERT BURST INTO my chamber. I had never seen him so upset.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded. “How dare you come in thus unannounced?”
He said: “I have just witnessed that scene in the gallery.”
“Scene? My Lord Leicester, I don't understand you!”
This was how I liked Robert—all fire and jealousy. He could not be regretting a crown now since he was no longer free to marry. This was pure jealousy… for me.
“That… that frog …” he stammered.
I laughed and said: “Robert, you look as though you will explode. I like not that purple tinge in your face. To tell the truth it worries me. You will have an apoplectic fit one day, and none to blame but yourself. You eat too much… you drink too much. How often have I told you!”
He took me by the shoulders. Why did I allow such liberties? I suppose if one allows them in one direction one must in another. There had never been, nor ever could be, any relationship in my life like that I shared with Robert. I was happy now because he was jealous, because for a time at least he had forgotten Lettice.
He cried: “I demand to know. Are you that man's mistress?”
I laughed at him and he shook me. I was too astounded to answer for a few moments. Then I remembered my dignity.
“My lord Leicester,” I said, “you take great liberties with me. Perhaps I have favored you too much and you have grown to believe you possess powers… even over me. You are mistaken, my lord. I could send you to the Tower in five minutes. Take your hands from me at once.”
He obeyed and stood looking at me, the anger still in his face.
“Are you that man's mistress?” he repeated, almost pleadingly.
“My lord Leicester,” I said with great dignity, “I am the mistress of you all.”
He looked so distressed. He could not bear to think that I had given to another that which I had always denied him. He could always soften me. It was only when he was absent that I could be really angry with him.
“Robert,” I said, “I have promised myself that I shall go to my grave a virgin. I still intend to do that.”
He took my hand and kissed it then and I touched the dark curling hairs at the back of his neck as he did so.
I said gently: “You may go now.”
I COULD SEE now that the farce was at an end. The French had ceased to help Anjou in the Netherlands, so the situation was changing. I would have to come out in the open. A few days after the scene in the gallery, I arose and declared to my ladies that I had had a sleepless night, which was true, for I was deeply anxious as to how I was going to plan the next scene.
When the Duc came to me, I said that I thought I could not endure another night like that through which I had just passed. I had been torn by my emotions and I was going to make the biggest sacrifice a woman had ever made. “I shall give up the thought of marriage for the sake of my people,” I added.
He was dumbfounded and did not know what to say for a few moments. I could understand his confusion. I went on to say that I knew that if I married I would not live more than a few months. My people needed me and for their sakes I would not marry.
It was all such nonsense. No wonder he was bewildered, but when he realized that I meant what I said, he burst into tears and cried out that he would rather we were both dead than not married.
“My dear little Frog,” I replied, “you must not threaten a poor old woman in her kingdom.”
He said: “I meant no harm to your blessed person but I would rather be cut in pieces than not marry you and so be laughed at by the world.”
So that was it. He feared ridicule.
“Alas, alas,” I consoled him. “My heart is yours, little Frog, and now it is broken. But I am a queen and must do my duty.”
“But it has gone too far. Your people know. They accept…”
“I know, little one. Leave this to me. My dear little Prince, how can I let you go?”
Perhaps I went too far for the purple color flooded his angry face. Never had he looked more grotesque; and now there was real misery on his ugly little face; he looked like a poor little frog who has been turned out of a very pleasant pond.
Tears welled up in his eyes and fell down his pitted cheeks. I took a kerchief from my waist and mopped his eyes.
“There! You are a great commander, remember. You will know great glory. I am sure of it.”
In a fit of temper he took off the ring which I had given him and threw it onto the ground.
“English women are like their weather,” he said bitterly. “They are all smiles one day and rain the next.”
Poor little man. He was indeed put out.
I must be careful, though. I still had to think of a French alliance with Spain.
I continued to wipe his eyes, for the tears were still running down his cheeks. Tears of rage, I noted. Poor little Anjou, his mother would say, once again he has failed.
I said: “Perhaps this is not final…”
Hope leaped into his eyes. Could I really keep him dangling a little longer? If I could do that and keep him fighting in the Netherlands, the French and Spaniards would not form an alliance. Was it possible?
He looked a little hopeful. He was clutching at hope, anything rather than to appear to the world as the rejected one.
It would offer him small comfort to know that I had never intended to take him. I had played my part so successfully that I had deluded him into thinking that I would.
“We will talk later,” I said.
Then he left me, his tears dried and a new hope in his heart.
BURGHLEY, WALSINGHAM AND THE rest were amazed at what I had done. Robert was secretly amused, and not surprised, I think. Perhaps he had known me better than the others.
“I have given him hope,” I said.
“He will never believe that again.”
“Perhaps not. But we have to help the little man to regain his selfrespect. Let me see the settlements you have drawn up.”
I took them and said: “There is one clause which must be added. The French must return Calais.”
“They will never do that!” cried Hatton aghast.
“Assuredly they will not. That is why I shall demand it. Only the return of Calais will induce me to go on with the marriage.”
“They would never let us back on their territory even for marriage.”
“Exactly so. That is why we make this a necessary condition. We have kept Anjou in the Netherlands; we have delayed an agreement between France and Spain; and we have gained important time. Our ships are being built in our dockyards. The prospect of that French marriage has served us well. I should have liked to go on with negotiations a little longer, which would have served us even better. But the end is in sight. However, let us be grateful for the help it has given us.”
They were astounded, but I saw the respect in their faces.
Burghley said solemnly: “The people of this country will know one day that their greatest ruler was Elizabeth.”
“In the meantime,” I said, “I shall be very happy with their affection. I believe there is rejoicing in the streets now because the news has leaked out that I have refused the French marriage. No, I do not wish my little Frog Prince to suffer too deep a humiliation. I was in fact quite fond of the little fellow. He was amusing and some of you would do well to learn from his gracious manners. So I am going to offer him money to continue the struggle in the Netherlands. They need help against the Spaniards. They have asked us for it again and again. Well, we will help them through Anjou, and my little Prince can fight our battles for us.”
They were further surprised but I could see the excitement in their faces.
“It will have to be decided how much we can give him. It will have to be substantial. As you know, I am not in favor of Englishmen fighting wars—but I fully approve of others doing it for them.”
I was delighted by the admiration I saw in their eyes … admiration and pride…in me, their Queen.
I looked at Robert, and he was smiling at me.
IT WAS LESS difficult than I had imagined it to be to placate my little Frog.
“Why,” I said, “you have shown us all what a brilliant commander you are.”
I looked at him sharply. Was that too blatant? He had often shown that that was the last thing he had proved himself to be. He swallowed it. He was thinking of his one success at Cambrai.
“My dear little Frog,” I went on, “you are going to prove yourself even more. You will subdue the Spaniards in the Netherlands and come back to us a hero.”
He was already seeing himself féted, riding through the streets of London—a conquering hero. And finally, I should marry him after all and he would be able to laugh in the faces of both his brother and his mother. King of England! I was sure he could feel the crown already on his head.
“I have talked over this matter with my Council and it has been agreed that you shall have sixty thousand pounds—half within fifteen days of leaving and the other half fifty days after that.”
He seemed delighted, and we smiled and chatted together, resuming our old relationship.
He lingered though and as I was eager for him to go, and realized that he lacked the funds to start, I arranged that he should be given 10,000 at once.
“Now there is nothing to hold you back,” I said. “And I am going to send you an escort, at the head of which shall be the finest man in my kingdom.”
They all knew who that was.
“And I myself shall accompany you to Canterbury,” I added.
And so departed my little Duc. I rode between him and Robert on the way to Canterbury. Robert looked magnificent. He always did on such occasions. He loved the pomp and glitter. What a king he would have made!
The people came out to cheer as we went along. I smiled and waved. They were expressing their delight in the departure of my suitor.
I wondered if there would be another. Regretfully I doubted it. The game of courtship had always fascinated me. I enjoyed every minute because always at the end there was escape. It was the journey which was appealing, never the arrival. I wondered whether Robert and Lettice were as delighted with each other as they had been in the beginning. He must have thought a great deal of her to marry her and risk my wrath.
I smiled secretly. He would not be seeing her for a little while. She would know that he was riding beside me to Canterbury because I had selected him for the task of escorting Anjou. How she must be longing to come to Court! Go on longing, Lettice, I thought, I will never give you that satisfaction.
The time had come to say farewell and I embraced Anjou with a show of tenderness.
I said: “I would give a million pounds to have my little Frog swimming in the Thames.”
To which he replied that he would come back with honors, and when he did there should be a marriage.
I sent for Robert.
“Now, my lord,” I said, “you must take good care not to offend me as you have done of late.”
He looked bewildered and asked in what way he had offended me.
“By not taking care of yourself. I watched you at dinner. You could scarcely get rid of the food in your mouth before you were shoveling in the next mouthful. You eat like a pig. You drink too much. Robert Dudley, I will not have it.”
“My sweet lady …” he began.
“There will be no sweetness from me if you do not take better care of yourself. And I tell you this, if I hear of any disorder attacking you, I shall blame you for it.”
His eyes looked yearningly at me in a manner which I knew so well and I said gently: “Robin, take care.”
The cavalcade rode on to Dover, and when I heard that the Duc d'Anjou had set sail I went to my apartments and laughed aloud.
Hearing my laughter, two of my women came in and I seized them both and danced round the chamber with them.
I had to rejoice. I had come out of a dangerous situation very well indeed.
BUT I WAS NOT really satisfied until Robert was safely back.
Burghley came to tell me that he had seen him.
“And how looked he?” I said.
“In good health and high spirits, Your Majesty.”
“I am glad.”
“He said he left Anjou like an old hulk run ashore high and dry stuck in a sandbank.”
“And he thought that amusing, did he?”
“He thought the Duc was rather ridiculous.”
I said coldly: “My Lord Leicester gives himself airs and is pleased to laugh at his betters. He is a traitor like all his horrible family.”
Burghley did not comment. He knew that whatever I said of Robert was said in affection; and no one would be allowed to criticize him in my hearing no matter what I said about him.
I went on: “This has been a costly matter, eh… this ridding ourselves of this suitor of mine?”
“Your Majesty,” said Burghley, “we have paid a good price, but when we consider, I think we shall decide that what we paid was cheap for what we have gained.”
I smiled and nodded and I thought: I will send for Robert and hear his version of the journey; and the prospect of seeing Robert always put me in a good mood.
IT NOW SEEMED clear to both Robert and me that whatever happened the bonds which held us together would never be broken; they might slacken or become frayed; but the relationship between us was different from any either of us had with another person. It was deep affection, I was sure; it had always been passionate and romantic, and all the more lasting because it had never reached what people called fulfillment. How many people fall madly in love and find their passion fading when their senses become satiated? Our affection had been kept constantly in flower because we had never allowed it to wither through excess. Was he as devoted to Lettice as he had been when he married her? I was sure he could not be; when I sent for him he came with such alacrity.
He had offended me never so much as he had by his marriage. With anyone else it would have been the end. Not with Robert. There could only be one ending to my love for him and that was Death.
Robert believed entirely in himself. Since I had shown that my affection for him was unimpaired, he had become more egotistical, more self-seeking, even more ambitious. If he had not been so, I doubted whether I should have admired him as I did. Robert never gave up. He had failed to marry me and in desperation had at last turned to Lettice. He had wanted his son to be heir to the throne, but he had had to make do with Lettice's child instead of mine. But he still had plans, and when I heard what those plans were I was almost as overcome with rage as I had been when I heard of his marriage.
Sussex told me of them. Trust Sussex. He never failed to bring me notice of anything concerning Robert which he thought would weaken my regard for him. He need not have bothered. I knew my Robert better than anyone else did.
Sussex said: “I trust my lord Leicester has consulted Your Majesty regarding the arrangements for the marriages in his family.”
“Arrangements,” I gasped. “What arrangements?”
“Those of his son and his stepdaughter.”
“That baby! And his stepdaughter. Wasn't she married a little while ago to Lord Rich?”
“That was Penelope, the elder daughter, Your Majesty.”
“A saucy wench, that one. She has something of her mother in her. A wanton brood … all of them. She was after young Philip Sidney at one time. He wrote some verses for her. Then she married Rich and young Sidney turned to Walsingham's girl. What marriages do you speak of?”
“There is another daughter—Dorothy. And Leicester is sending out feelers to Scotland to James, for he fancies a match between his stepdaughter Dorothy and Mary of Scotland's son.”
I was dumbfounded. Dorothy Devereux! That she-wolf's cub to be Queen of Scotland! Aye, and if some would have it, Queen of England! What was Robert thinking of? He must be mad to think I would ever agree to that!
“I thought Your Majesty should know of my lord Leicester's ambitions. Moreover he suggests Arabella Stuart for his son.”
“I find this impossible to believe,” I said. “I always knew my lord Leicester had pretensions to grandeur. Send for him without delay.”
Robert came, all eagerness. The rascal could not know that I had heard of his latest schemes, or perhaps he thought I was so besotted with him that I would agree to them. I admitted to myself that I must have given him grounds for believing that. After my initial rage, I had accepted his marriage and the only consequence of that was the banishment of Lettice Knollys from Court. Yes, I could see that Robert believed he could act in whatever way he fancied and still keep my affection. He had a lesson to learn.
When he saw my face he paused for I was glowering at him.
“So, my lord Leicester,” I said, “you are making plans to advance your wife's family.”
He was a little taken aback. How long, I wondered, had he been working in the dark to bring about these marriages behind my back? That made the whole project even worse. It was deceitful. He was a wicked man, my Robert.
“I…er… thought there was no harm…Of course my son is but a baby yet…”
“Royal princes are often betrothed in their cradles and grand alliances are made for them,” I cried. “It is a pretty pass when plans are made for royal marriages and kept in secret from the only one who could give permission for them to take place. You have too high an opinion of yourself, Robert Dudley. You and that she-wolf give yourselves too many airs. How dare you seek to set your son on the throne!”
“Your Majesty, I never thought for one moment—”
“You never thought for one moment! You would marry your son to Arabella Stuart. I can see how your mind works, my lord. Arabella Stuart, daughter of Charles Stuart, whose brother Darnley married Mary of Scotland. Arabella's father is the grandson of my father's sister. Royal connections, eh? Claims to the throne. And born English too. The English like an English Queen, do they not? Just in case James Stuart does not reach the throne, Arabella might. Two chances … Dorothy Devereux for James– your stepdaughter, no less—and your son for Arabella. What reasoning, Robert! Two lines to success. But first of all the old lady has to die…or to be put out. What are your plans for that, master plotter?”
Robert had turned pale.
“How can you talk so? You know that if aught happened to you, my very desire for living would be at an end.”
“I should not let that trouble you, Robert Dudley. You would have your she-wolf to comfort you … and her cubs all bringing you close to the throne.”
He said: “It was merely an idea. When one has responsibilities to others, one has to seek the best for them.”
“Oh yes, indeed. I tell you this: I will see that no such glory comes to your wife… through her cubs. You will regret the day you married her. Her daughter is like her… leading Philip Sidney on to write poems about her and then to marry Rich…I suppose because he lived up to his name.”
“She married Rich most reluctantly,” said Robert.
“Oh? Had she her eyes on James of Scotland?”
“You misjudge her.”
“Poof! I am glad Philip Sidney is having Walsingham's girl and not marrying into that breed. That must be a comfort for your sister. And as for your plans, they are at an end. Do you understand?”
“They had not gone very far. Just an idea…”
“Robert Dudley, I advise you to curb your ideas. They could carry you into trouble.”
He did not speak and as always when he was downcast I was sorry for him.
I had already made up my mind that the suggestions for these grand marriages had come from her not him. After all, they were for the glorification of her children.
I dismissed him, pretending to be angry with him, but after a few days he was back; and it was as though that incident had never happened.
I SUFFERED A sad loss that year. I had a great affection for my men, and although it was a different kind of love I had for some than for others, my feelings went deep. Sussex was a man I had admired; he was not exactly in the courtier class; there had never been any frivolous flirtation with him, but I had respected him. He lacked the brilliance of men like Burghley and Bacon, nor had he the astuteness of Walsingham; he lacked the charm of Robert, Hatton and Heneage and such. But he was a good man—a man of high principles. Many were the differences I had had with him, but I respected him for that. He had been ill for some time and I hated illness. It frightened me. They all knew this and did not speak of it in my presence– except in the case of Robert, who used it to extricate himself from difficult situations. That was different. Real illness was a depressing subject and because those about me knew how I felt regarding it, they behaved as though it did not exist.
I had seen Sussex laboring to get his breath and trying to pretend this was not so. I had insisted on one occasion that he go to the baths at Buxton, and he had gone. He had hated leaving Court, partly because he believed that, without anyone to curb him, Leicester would be more powerful than ever.
He loathed Leicester and greatly deplored my devotion to him. Like most upright and somewhat self-righteous men, Sussex imagined that others were worse than they were. He saw himself as an honest man, a man who would put his life at risk rather than act against his principles. While I respected such attitudes I often distrusted the men who held them. They grew into fanatics, and I had found that those who set themselves up as of impregnable virtue could often be much more cruel than those who suffered from ordinary human frailties. I knew Robert was ambitious, greedy, selfseeking, devious, ruthless and perhaps even capable of murder. But he was still the most exciting and attractive man I had ever known.
Understanding them all, seeing clearly into their minds and not being of a very upright nature myself—except perhaps where my country was concerned—I could forgive men their foibles and love them none the less for them. I was as good a statesman as any of my men, but in addition I possessed a certain insight which was entirely feminine. It was not merely intuition—but that might have been part of it; it was an immense interest in people, which most men lack. They are too absorbed in themselves to bother much with other people's motives. Women want to know what is going on; they are insatiably curious. This gives my sex that extra knowledge of how people's minds work; it helps us to assess how they will act in certain circumstances. I had this quality in excess; I was entirely female; but at the same time I could grapple with state matters as skillfully as my most able councilors. Since I could bring to problems my feminine flexibility and did not mind a little not-always-honest juggling, I was more fitted to rule my country than any of my men would have been, clever though they were. I owed this to the fact that I picked my advisers with skill; I understood them; I accepted their foibles; and I gave them my loyalty, which is the best way of getting that most essential gift in exchange.
Another fact was that I loved them all. They were my men and my children. They knew this and because in every man there is a desire for a mother figure…I was that too. I scolded them as though they were my wayward children, and they loved me for it. Even to those who looked upon me as a mistress—by which I mean a lover—I was a mother too. I looked to their health and when any one of them was ill that gave me great concern, which was what I felt for dear old Sussex at this time. He was fifty-seven years old—not so much older than I, seven years to be precise. A sobering thought.
Then came the day when I was asked to visit him at his home in Bermondsey. I went at once and was deeply grieved to see how ill he was.
I took his hand and he tried to kiss mine but I would not let him exert himself. “No, my dear friend, I forbid it. You must rest. Save your breath. That is your Queen's command.”
“My lady,” he said, “my joy in life has been to serve you.”
“I know it well,” I told him. “I want you to do something more for me. I want you to get up from this sick-bed and come back to Court.”
He shook his head. “I shall never rise from this bed, Your Majesty.”
“You are too young to die.”
“I have grown old in your service.”
“Come, Thomas Radcliffe, we both grow old. But I am not so old yet that I can dispense with your services.”
“I have long felt death close to me, Your Majesty,” he said, “and my greatest regret in leaving this life is that I may no longer serve you. I shall leave the Court to others…”
I shook my head. He looked so mournful that I knew he was thinking of Leicester who he thought had an evil influence over me; and yet when I had been incensed by Robert's marriage and had declared my intention of sending him to the Tower, it had been Sussex who had restrained me and pointed out that I could not do so. There had been a chance to take revenge on his enemy then, but he had not done so because it would have been wrong and harmful to me and because he was ever a just man above all.
I wept for him. “I cannot afford to lose my good men,” I said. “I love them dearly. My lord, you have been very dear to me.”
I took a tender farewell of him and said that I should send every day– or come myself—until he was well, for he was constantly in my thoughts.
Hatton was with him at the end. He reported to me what he had said. It was: “I am passing into another world and must leave you. Beware of the gipsy. He will betray you. You know not the beast as I do.”
By the gipsy he meant Robert, who had been given that name by some because of his dark hair and dark flashing eyes.
Poor Sussex! Even in death he could not forget his jealousy of the man I loved beyond them all.
A few days later he died.
I WAS VERY AMUSED to hear that Dorothy Devereux had astounded them all by snapping her fingers at their grandiose plans for her and had run off with John Perrot's son, Thomas. The young pair had fallen in love. It was an unusual story that we had from the vicar of Broxbourne in whose church they had been clandestinely married. He said that two men had asked for the keys to the door of his church, which he had refused. They had then departed, but feeling that there was something unusual in the request, the vicar had gone along to investigate, to find that the door of the church had been forced open and inside a young couple were being married.
“Why,” I said, “this Dorothy Devereux has spirit. I will say that for her. And she has taken Tom Perrot and saved herself from her stepfather's proposed match with the heir of Scotland!”
I laughed with my women. Sir John Perrot, father of the bridegroom, was said to be a very close relation of mine. Whether he was or not remains a mystery, but I had to admit that I never saw a man who looked more like my father. Sir John was reputed to be his illegitimate son by Mary Berkley, who married a certain Thomas Perrot. Sir John was an enormous man; his build was exactly that of my father; he had a somewhat quarrelsome nature and was constantly involved in brawls. My father had encouraged him, and my half-brother Edward had made him a knight and helped him through financial troubles. And it was the son of this man whom Dorothy had married.
I could imagine Lettice's wrath for I was certain she was the one who had goaded Robert to his outrageous plans.
That was a year of death.
The first blow was the news that my dear little Frog had passed away. I had always known that he was no commander of men. He was a courtier, simply that. It had been a cruel joke to give this poor little man the name of Hercule—though he had been called Franois later. Not even of medium height, disfigured by the pox; it was as though Nature had regarded him as a joke, a travesty of a man. However education and upbringing had given him social grace but that somehow had made the contrast between manners and appearance more grotesque.
I had treated him badly, played on his vanity, allowed him to believe that I had thought him attractive… all in the name of politics… and my own desire to be admired, of course.
And now the little man had died—not in battle, but in his bed. He had lived a life of debauchery, I knew, which somehow seemed more to be deplored because he was so ugly and could only have found partners to share in his frolics because of his wealth and royalty.
I went into mourning for him and wept a little. Perhaps some of my men thought I was acting but I did feel a genuine grief.
Then there occurred another death—one which was to shatter the whole continent of Europe. William of Orange was murdered.
This was a great blow to the Protestant world. He was one of their most respected leaders—an upright, noble gentleman who had given his life to the protection of the weak against the strong. In his youth he had been a Catholic and had discovered through Henri Deux of France, that France and Spain were formulating a plot to destroy the Protestants in the two countries. The massacre which had taken place on the eve of St Bartholomew's Day had been only a step toward this. When William heard that the Duke of Alva was raising an army to come against Holland and that his object was to exterminate what he called heretics and set up the Inquisition in that country, he became a Protestant and steeled himself for the almost impossible task of fighting Philip of Spain. He was determined to sacrifice everything he had– including his life—to preserve the welfare and liberty of his people.
