CHAPTER VII
HIS GRACE OF WESSEX
There are several portraits extant of Robert d'Esclade, fifth Duke ofWessex, notably the one by Antonio Moro in the Pitti Gallery atFlorence.
But in the somewhat stiff portraiture of that epoch it is perhaps alittle difficult to trace the real image, the inner individuality of oneof the most interesting personalities at the Court of Mary Tudor.
There is, however, a miniature of him, attributed to Holbein, andcertainly drawn by the hand of a great master, which renders withgreater truth and loving accuracy the peculiar charm made up ofhalf-indolent nonchalance, gracious condescension, and haughty reservewhich characterized the Duke of Wessex.
So justly styled His Grace!
The reserve was so little apparent. The hauteur only came to the surfacein response to unwelcome familiarity. But the debonair indolence wasalways there, the lazy droop of the lids, the nonchalant shrug of theshoulders, when grave matters were discussed, and also that obviousfastidiousness--a love of everything that was beautiful, from a finehorse, down to a piece of delicate lace--which annoyed the moresedate-minded courtiers of the Queen.
And with it all that wonderful virility and vigour, that joy of life anddelight in gaiety and laughter which lent to the grave face at times aspark of almost boyish exuberance; that mad, merry, proud insouciance,which throughout his life made him meet every danger--aye! every sorrowand disgrace--with the same bright smile on his lips.
Scheyfne, in his letters to the emperor, Charles V, says of the Duke ofWessex that he was insufferably conceited--"il est tres orgueilleux desa beaute personelle, laquelle certes est plus que mediocre."
Noailles, too, speaks of him as "moult fatueux et vaniteux de sapersonne."
But it was hardly likely that these foreign delegates, each bent upontheir own schemes, would look with favour upon His Grace. His only meritin their eyes was that same characteristic indolence of his, whichcaused a man of his great wealth and boundless influence to abstain frompolitics.
Certes no one could accuse him of intriguing for his own politicaladvancement. Mary Tudor's own avowed penchant for him was so well known,that he had but to say the word and the crown of England would be his,to share with the Queen.
Yet since the death of Edward VI he had not been seen at Court. Smallwonder, therefore, that at sight of the Duke all four men seemed amazed.
"His Grace of Wessex!" they ejaculated in one breath.
But already Lord Everingham had put up his sword and gone to Wessex withhands outstretched.
"Wessex!" he said with unmistakable delight. "By Our Lady, this is ajoyful surprise!"
The other two Englishmen also shook the Duke warmly by the hand.
"I did not know you were in England, my lord," said the one.
"Right glad are we to welcome you back," added the other.
"Well, Harry, my friend," quoth the Duke gaily, "methinks you and I arenot to be spiked after all."
Harry Plantagenet, however, was looking doubtfully at the youngSpaniard, who had remained somewhat in the background, regarding thefirst effusions of his friends with a certain ill-concealed impatience.With almost human intelligence the dog seemed to understand that herewas a person who was inimical to his master, and in his faithful eyesthere came that unmistakable furtive look and blink, with which dogsinvariably show their mistrust and dislike.
But Don Miguel de Suarez was above all a diplomatist. Capricious andfond of adventure, not over-scrupulous as to the choice of hispleasures, yet he never allowed his dearest whim to interfere withpolitical necessities.
A few seconds' quick reflection soon made it dear to him that a quarrelwith the Duke of Wessex would, at this juncture, greatly endanger hisown popularity at the English Court, and thereby minimize his chances ofcarrying through the negotiations entrusted to him by King Philip ofSpain.
Under the leadership of His Eminence the Cardinal de Moreno he certainlyhoped to bring about the marriage of Philip with the Queen of England.
He knew perfectly well that he and his eminent colleague were opposed inthis design by the entire ultra-English faction here, and also that thisfaction was composed of practically the whole of the nobility andchivalry of the realm.
The Duke of Wessex was the pride and hope of this party, for Courtenay,weak and effeminate, had lost all his partisans. What more natural thanthat the most distinguished, most brilliant of Queen Mary's subjectsshould share her throne with her?
All this and more passed swiftly through Don Miguel's active brain.Therefore, as soon as there was a lull in the joyful welcome accordedto the Duke by his friends, he too stepped forward, having with vigorousself-will curbed his unruly temper and forced his full, sensuous lips toa smile. He had realized the expediency of, at any rate, outwardamiability.
"A great name, my lord," he said, bowing with grave ceremony to Wessex,"and one familiar to me already, though I have not yet been honoured byseeing you at Court."
The Duke eyed him for the space of two brief seconds, whilst just thefaintest touch of superciliousness seemed to be lurking somewhere at theback of his neck. But he returned the Spaniard's bow with equalceremony. Then he placed his hand on the head of his dog.
"Nay, sir," he said, "my friend here bears a prouder name than mine.Harry Plantagenet, make your bow to the envoy of His Most CatholicMajesty. I call him Plantagenet, sir, after our King Harry V, who droveback the French at Agincourt. Nay, your pardon; this scarce interestsyou. You were not born then, and Spain was not yet a kingdom."
He spoke lightly, and none but Everingham's devoted ears caught theslight tone of impertinence which underlay the bland, seemingly emptyspeech.
Don Miguel himself was determined to keep urbane.
"A beautiful creature, indeed," he said suavely; "but you, milor Duke,do you return to Hampton Court with us this night?"
"Oh!" replied Wessex, "among so many brilliant diplomatists from Spainthere's scarce room for a mere idler like myself."
"Yet we diplomatists are hoping to pit our poor wits against YourGrace's," added Don Miguel pointedly.
"Against those of my friends perhaps, my lord," rejoined the Duke drily."Mine own are incorrigibly idle."
Don Miguel, as was his wont, did not pursue the subject any further. Hewas trying to read the refined, distinctly haughty countenance, whichwas smiling down at him so pleasantly just now, and taking mental stockof this antagonist, whom rumour had described to him and to his chief asthe only serious obstacle to the proposed Spanish alliance.
He saw before him a man in the full pride of youth and manhood, tall andwell knit, and wearing with easy grace the elaborate slashes and puffs,trunks and silk hose, which present fashion had decreed.
The Spaniard's keen and critical eye took in every detail of thisinteresting personality: the short, light brown hair worn close to thehead, the fair moustache and delicately refined hands, the richness ofthe doublet, the priceless value of the lace at throat and wrist.
"A fop and an idler!" he murmured mentally.
Then he thought of the Queen of England. No longer young, with butlittle taste in ornament and dress, and certes quite unversed in allthose wiles, which might have drawn this brilliant butterfly into hernet.
The Spaniard longed to see these two together. The presence of thisformidable adversary gave additional zest to the game he was playing onthe political chess-board.
An unwilling courtier! A love-sick Queen! Carramba! it was interesting.
"When do you return to the Palace, my lord?" Everingham was asking ofthe Duke.
"To-night," replied the latter, "by our gracious Liege Lady's owncommand."
"To-night then?"
"Without fail. Harry Plantagenet and I will present our humble respectsto Her Majesty."
"'Tis au revoir then, Your Grace," quoth Don Miguel. "We meet againto-night."
"At your service, my lord Marquis."
Still smiling amicably the Spaniard took his leave, soon followed by twoof his co
mpanions. Lord Everingham too was about to depart, but he feltWessex' detaining hand on his arm.
"That unpleasant-looking Spaniard? . . ." queried the Duke.
"Don Miguel, Marquis de Suarez," replied Everingham, "envoy of HisMajesty, the King of Spain."
"Aye, I knew all that. I was merely reflecting that if he happen to be aspecimen of our Liege Lady's Court, meseems I were a fool to go back toit."
"Come back to it with me now," urged his friend earnestly.
"Not till to-night. Do not grudge me these few last hours of freedom. ByOur Lady! I meant to consult the famous witch, like a sober burgher outon a holiday. But in the name of all the saints in the calendar let usforget there are such things as Spaniards at the English Court justnow."
He laughed, a half weary, wholly pleasant laugh, as, followed by hisdog, he led his friend in the opposite direction to that in which DonMiguel had rapidly walked away.
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